Rakata vs Vong: Part One
by Hibbidyhai
Summary: 30,000 years before A New Hope the Rakata Infinite Empire rules much of the Galaxy Far Far Away with an iron fist. Masters of the Dark Side of the Force, their superior technology has allowed the Rakata to oppress hundreds of worlds across the galaxy. Their only true threat are each other. And, perhaps, mysterious outsiders from beyond the known universe.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

Smoke from a dozen fires drifted over the thatched roofs of a small village, mixing with the fog that hung over the rocky moors to form a smothering blanket. Fearful whispers passed through the air as the villagers cowered and fell to their knees in the bare dirt that passed for streets. A shadow moved over them, causing the smoke and fog to swirl over their heads. The shadow was joined with a low pitched rhythmic noise that grew into a thunderous cacophony.

The shadow slowed and then hovered over the centerof the village and the bonfires that yet burned. The fog parted as a strange spherical craft with two forward swept triangular wings and a tall vertical tail descended to the ground. Red lines appeared on the bottom hemisphere of the craft, expanding and meeting at ninety degree angles, forming a rectangle. A section of the sphere, outlined by the rectangle, separated from the craft and lowered itself to the ground, forming a ramp. Red light emanated from within, silhouetting the form of a tall, masculine being. The being stepped outward, the claws on his three-toed feet gripping into the black stone of the ramp. His skin, mottled in tones of teal and grey, glistened as the fog condensed upon his flesh.

The being gazed out upon the prostrated humans, a cruel look in the orange eyes that sat in stalks upon each side of his narrow head. He wore a purple vest that bared his muscular chest, gold fiberoutlining the edges of the armorthat rested upon his shoulders. He carried a golden staff in one of his three fingered hands. He stuck the shaft violently into the dirt after taking the first step off of the ramp.

Another figure emerged from the innards of the craft, a human man of pale, almost deathly pallor. The hunched back man, who wore an orange robe, followed his Master as he surveyed the human villagers. Finally the tall being gazed upon the bonfires, his shallow nostrils quivering in annoyance at the acrid smoke.

"Put out those fires," he commanded, his voice arrogant and spiteful. The hunched man who trailed him translated the order, shouting itin the villager's native tongue. There was a slight hesitation before a half dozen of the villagers rose and obeyed the command. While diverting their gaze from their imperious visitor they ran to the nearest huts, grabbing buckets, filling them in the water troughs, and then hastily throwing them upon the bonfires.

The tall visitor watched as the fires extinguished one by one. As the fires died charred forms emerged in the ashes, almost burned beyond recognition. He turned to his servant. "Why have they been burning their own? Why have they, and the other villagers on this tiny little world, abandoned their fields?"

The servant moved amongst the villagers, barking out questions. The villagers seemed reluctant to answer, so fearful were they of the one who visited them. The tall being became impatient, stepping towards the villagers and examining the crowd before picking out one of the oldest. Next his head tilted upwards, his eyes closing. He raised a hand and the villager grasped at his neck. His eyes widened in terror as he rose into the air, as if lifted by an invisible force.

"Speak," the alien visitor commanded. While the old man struggled for breath a woman, wearing not much more than rags, her auburn hair discoloredwith ash, rose to her feet and rushed forward. The hunch backed servant moved to intercept her but she held out her hand, stopping him short.

"There is a plague in the lowlands," she answered in the visitors own tongue. He regarded her curiously, dropping his hand. The old man dropped as well, landing on his back and gasping as air once again found his lungs. "None of our crops will grow," she continued. "Our livestock becomes sick. Our children too."

"How did you learn the Mastertongue?" the visitor asked.

"I...I listen to the wind," she answered hesitatingly.

"Indeed," the visitor commented. "Why the burnings?"

"They were infected," she answered simply.

The visitor regarded her for a moment longer and then gestured towards his ship. He spoke no audible command but a moment later two more of his kind descended the ramp, wearing similar vests but in greycolorsand without any gold braiding. Each of the them carried a staff similar to his own, but silver in finish. They lowered the ends of their staffs, pointing them towards the villagers.

"You were right to cull the infected among you," the visitor spoke, his deep voice marked with arrogance. "I am Tora'tak; Predor and Legadof the Rakata InfiniteEmpire. I am responsible for every world in this sector. Just as you could not allow the sick and weak amongst you to threaten the rest, I cannot allow this sick world to spread its infection." He gestured to his subordinates. A moment later red fire erupted from the ends of their staff weapons, like bolts of red lightning. The villagers screamed in terror and attempted to flee as they were cut down. But none got far.

The woman with the auburn hair attempted to flee as well, pushing aside the hunch backed servant with ease. But before she could escape she was yanked backwards, lifted off of her feet, and deposited on the ground before Tora'tak. "Not you," he said. He extended a hand, which she looked upon in fear and anger. "You have the Forceflowing in your veins. While the weak are culled, the strong will be lifted up and made to serve. Stand."

She eyed his hand with hate filled eyes but did as he ordered. All around her the rest of the village burned. Tora'tak motioned towards his ship and, with a final tear filled gaze directed towards her dying people, she walked up the ramp.

oOoOo

Thirteen Years Later

Amidst the shallow oceans that dominated most of the world of Oaka Prime, stretched a series of narrow peninsulas along the equator, like snaking slivers of gold floating atop a sea of sapphire. Amongst the landscape of sand and narrow seas a windblown city emerged, a mass of mostly low lying buildings constantly battered by the salty spray. Most of the buildings that stretched the dozens of kilometersbetween each coastline were built of golden hued adobe brick, topped with haphazard domed roofs. Walking the brick covered streets of the city were a mix of beings of many different species, all of them under the thrall of the Rakata. Humans, Gran, Duro, Noghriand some others, all living together, united by a common language and a mutual suffering. Small primitive fishing vessels, their linen sails flagging in the breeze, bobbed over the waves along the coastline, a sign of the height technological achievement allowed by the Rakata.

Towering over the surrounding settlement was a structure unlike any other. Walls made of adobe brick were traded for black obsidian and a darkgreymetal. A domed roof was traded for a large obelisk shaped tower that extended for a hundred metersinto the sky. A red orb at the pointed tip of the tower shone with an insidious glow, even in the brightest light of day.

In the northern part of town, but within sight of the Rakata tower, a crowd was gathering. Beings of all shapes and sizes stood near a tiered ziggurat of the same style as the tower. A cohort of Rakata soldiers, who wore armoreduniforms in red and darkgrey, stood at attention, a handful of them at the steps of each of the seven tiers that made up the ziggurat.

A wave of thunder rolled over the crowd as a Rakata shuttle descended through the upper atmosphere towards them. The spherical craft, with two long wings that extended from each side of the hull before extending forward in the shape of a dagger, slowed as it descended before settling atop the highest level of the ziggurat. A boarding ramp opened and two Rakata guards exited, their armorsimilar to the other soldiers surrounding the ziggurat but different in coloration;trading red and greyfor darkpurple. They moved to each side of the ramp and stood at attention as a third being emerged, their staff weapons held parallel to their bodies.

This one was slightly more slender than the males to each side of her, although she was just as muscular. Her teal and greyflesh, mottled with specks of white under her arms and around her neck, contrasted with the purple battle armorshe wore on her shoulders. Unlike her guard she carried no staff. Instead a pair of bladeless hilts rested upon each hip. She stepped forward and looked outupon the gathered crowd before turning her gaze to two of the local Rakata guards who approached.

"Where is Predor Kil'as's Censor?" she asked the nearest guard, the eyes at the end of each stalk on the side of her head narrowing. Her voice carried through the air with a strong sense of authority.

"He is...engaged," the guard answered hesitatingly. "A transport should be arriving to bring you to the Predor's palace shortly."

One of the Rakata woman's guards stepped forward, clearing his throat as he prepared to berate his local counterpart. But she held up her hand and the guard halted at once. "No matter. We will walk."

"Walk?" the local guard asked in surprise. Before they could react she began to descend the stairs that ran down the side of the ziggurat. The guards at each level trailed after her, only her own pair of soldiers successfully keeping pace with her.

The crowd below parted before her, the huddled masses gazed at her in a mix of fear and awe, most of them in various states of starvation. The guards, including her own, simply looked past them. They did not need their eyes to sense danger. She however, swept her eyes over the crowd as she began the long trek towards the palace. She noted the dilapidated state of their housing, the potholes and missing brick in the streets.

There were carts, most of them made of softwood and reeds, but no pack animals. There were no signs of automation or machinery of any kind. She passed a market, which seemed abandoned of its primary purpose. There was trash and refuse sitting in the gutters and alleyways between buildings. The smell stung at her nostrils.

As the procession reached nearly halfway to the palace a levitating chariot, its golden cladding shining brilliantly, lowered itself before the procession, kicking up a cloud of dust and sand. Another Rakata stepped off the back, this one wearing the garb of a low level attendant.

"Sub-Predor Sira'tak," the attendant said, bowing towards the Rakata woman in a signal of respect. "Predor Kil'las apologizesfor the inhospitality of your arrival. He says that you arrived earlier than expected…"  
**"**I arrived exactly when I meant to," Sira'tak answered, her voice dismissive. "And I've never heard of a superior apologizingto an inferior before."

"The Predor knows your reputation well," the attendant said.

"Or my father's reputation," she said quietly. She glanced around at the thralls surrounding them. The slaves seemed to have little else to do but gawk. "Very well, I'll take the transport," she said at last. "I think I've seen enough."

"Of course," the attendant said, bowing and allowing her to board, followed by her guard. The chariot levitated and rose into the air. Sira'tak gazed out over the city. It looked much the same from the sky as it did from the ground. Even far from the main street that led from the landing platform to the palace the people seemed to be wandering around aimlessly or huddled into groups. None of them seemed to have any purpose or direction. Her nostrils flared in disgust.

The obsidian palace and its pointed tower soon came into view. The chariot drifted through an opening in the side of the pyramidal roof shaped much like the cell of a honeycomb. The opening led into a hangar filled with similar chariots, as well as atmospheric fighters that looked like spherical birds-of-prey. Their chariot settled into an open space and, after stepping off of the hovercraft, Sira'tak allowed the attendant to guide her and her guards through the hangar and to a large open corridor. The walls, floor and ceilingwere all carved out of the same black stone, which had an almost metallic finish. A line of red light ran along both sides of the wall, near the ceiling, providing the only light. There were no windows or open spaces.

The attendant stepped onto a large platform and waited for his guests to follow. Once everyone was aboard he swiped his three fingered hand over a small control panel that had no visible buttons or screens. There was a subtle shimmer in the air as the panel reacted to the attendant's influence. Suddenly the platform began to descend through the palace. They passed nearly a dozen identical looking floors before arriving in the throne room.

The elevator platform entered the long room from the side. Sira'tak stepped between a pair of thick columns of polished stone and into view of a gathered crowd. At the end of the room, on a raised platform, an elderly Rakata sat upon his throne. Predor Kil'las was wrinkled and slightly hunched over, but still held himself with an aura of projected power. The floor between them, twenty metersof polished obsidian, inlaid with silver, was empty. Around the outskirts of the room stood between twenty to thirty other Rakata. Some of them were attendants like the one who guided Sira'tak through the palace. Others were guards. To one side of the black and gold throne stood another Rakata, who wore the silver and tan armorof a Censor, who was a Predor's chief nonmilitary advisor and representative.

All of them stared as Sira'tak approached the throne. She took a knee at precisely ten metersfrom the dias, the action mirrored by her guards. She kept her gaze lowered.

"You are early," the Censor said haughtily. "But you need not have mixed with the inferiors on your way to the palace."

"If I never mixed with inferiors I would need to lock myself away," Sira'tak said with a slight shift towards the Censor, although she kept her gazed aimed downwards.

"You will speak with respect when spoken to by a representative of this court," Kil'las spat angrily from his throne. His voice was hoarse, perhaps out of disuse. Sira'tak finally raised her head and gazed into the Predor's eyes. She noticed they were yellowed and slightly bloodshot. It was a typical characteristic with age, especially when one spent several human lifetimes steeped in the power of the darkside of the Force.

Sira'tak stood, without permission, drawing a handful of gasps from the crowd. "Which one is your Primus?" she asked, her gaze falling upon the various warriors that stood within the vicinity of the throne.

"How dare you," the Censor cried out. Kil'las stood at last, shaking slightly with age, although many might perceive the quivering an artifactof rage.

"You wish to challenge me in my own throne room?" Kil'las asked.

"No," Sira'tak answered, keeping her expression neutral. "I wish to challenge your Primus. If he or she isn't present I will challenge three or four of your guards."

"I am present," a muscular Rakata answered. This one's flesh was grey, unlike the red hued tones of most of the others. Sira'tak guessed Kil'las had recruited him from one of the older clans closely related to her own. He was taller than most of the others, and more thickly built as well, especially when compared to the relatively thin Sira'tak. "I accept your challenge," the warrior added as he took a step off of the platform and onto the floor. "I hope your father will not miss you."

The grey-skinned Primus, the Predor's strongest and most senior warrior, took a staff weapon from one of the guards, a metallic spear. The Primus spun the weapon around his body before putting himself into a combat stance, with the tip of the spear pointed towards Sira'tak. He tightened his grip and a moment later purple energy erupted around the blade.

Sira'tak removed the two bladeless hilts from the belt around her waist, keeping her eyes on her opponent as she did so. She held each of them wide from her body. Thin strands of purple lightning emerged from the end of each hilt, coalescing into undulating blades of energy, similar to the energy around the Primus' spear but without any solid blade to help give them form. The Primus' eyes widened slightly at the display, but he maintained his stance.

"Are you ready?" Sira'tak asked, sounding bored. Her opponent charged forward, spinning his spear and then plunging it towards her heart. Rather than deflect the attack with one of her energy blades Sira'tak remained motionless, her eyes focused on her opponent. Suddenly, just as the tip of the spear and the energy pulsing around it was centimetersfrom her chest, he froze.

His eyes widened in shock as Sira'tak dropped her guard and stepped out of the way of the spear tip. He pulled at his spear, this way and that, but seemed unable to move it. "You should have trained your mind as much as your body," Sira'tak spoke, loud enough for the entire room to hear. She walked around the frozen warrior and then plunged one of her blades into his back. Finally he moved, if only as his body crumpled onto the floor.

Despite his mortal wound the warrior struggled back to his feet. Sira'tak turned her back on him and gazed in turn at Kil'las and his Censor. The Primus weakly raised his spear and moved it into position, aiming to plunge it into her turned back. As soon as he took his first step forward he suddenly shotupwards into the air. His body flew tens of metersat high speed, a startled cry escaping him that receded as he gained altitude. A sickening crunch resounded through the throne room as he smashed into the ceiling, whose finish mirrored that of the floor. A moment later his lifeless body fell downwards, landing with a meaty thud behind Sira'tak.

"Are we finished with the games?" Sira'tak asked loudly, gazing at the Predor. Purple lightning erupted around Kil'las' fist as his rage manifested. But, as Sira'tak continued to stare at him, her expression emotionless and her demeanorunmoved, he finally released his fist and the energy along with it. Small droplets of blood dripped onto the floor where his talons had cut into his palms. Kil'las glanced over at his Censor, communicating with him wordlessly.

"The audience is over," the servant called. The crowd of Rakata moved to depart from the throne room, nervous glances shot towards Sira'tak and their Master, exiting wordlessly towards the large doorway at the front of the room. When only his guards and his Censor remained Kil'las spoke.

"Why has Legad Tora'tak sent you to my domain?" Kil'las asked, injecting a vain attempt at authority into his voice.

"I no longer serve my father," Sira'tak answered. "I come her of my own volition, although I will admit that your colony has been of interest for some time."

"Why is that?"

"The production output from your mines has dropped to almost nothing. My father's fleet hasn't received a shipment of material from your systems in nearly a decade. Many other Predor besides my father are beginning to grow**…**curious."

"What use do they have of MY resources," Kil'las answered angrily. "If they need more ships, more Destroyers, why don't they request replenishment from the Over-Predorand the StarForge."

"Some do not see the wisdom of relying on a single source of production," Sira'tak answered. "And some do not see the wisdom of relying upon the whims of the Over-Predor."

"I would watch your tone," Kil'las admonished. "I will not tolerate treason."

"Apologies," Sira'tak said, bowing her head.

"So, you're here to spy on my world. Yet you said you no longer serve your father…"

"I am merely a Sub-Predor seeking a Master," Sira'tak revealed. "If you are willing, I will accept your sponsorship."

Kil'las's Censor spared a worried glance with his Master, but the Predor cut him off with a swipe of his hand. "If you think to overthrow me, if you think age has made me weak, you are mistaken."

"If I wished to overthrow you I would have challenged _you_in front of your court, instead of your Primus."

"Then why are you here, instead of carving out your own territory from one of the newly conquered worlds?"

Sira'tak paused before answering. "I have received admonitions," she answered vaguely.

"You are a Seer?" Kil'las asked, curiosity finally overcoming some of his suspicion.

"I have many gifts," she answered.

"Hmph," Kil'las grunted. "So it seems." Despite the increasingly frantic expression of his Censor, who already knew his Master**'**s mind, Kil'las seemed to come to a decision. "Very well. I will accept you as my Sub-Predor. In exchange I will accept nothing less than undying loyalty. You will answer to me, understand? Not to your father or any other Predor."

"Except for the Over-Predor," Sira'tak added.

Kil'las' eyes narrowed in annoyance but he nodded affirmatively. "Yes, of course."

"I find these terms acceptable," Sira'tak agreed. "If you have no immediate tasks for me I would like to tour your domain."

"Very well," Kil'las said with a wave of his hand. "I'll give you two days." Sira'tak bowed and, followed by her guards, turned her back on the elderly Predor, moving with graceful purpose towards the front entrance.

When she was gone the Censor turned towards his Master. "Predor, I do not trust her."

"Neither do I, I'm not a fool," Kil'las said. "Put an escort on her at all times. If you receive word that she has tried to communicate with her father, or anyone else offworld, I want you to have her killed. Do you understand?"

"Of course. But killing her….does not seem like it will be easy."

"Bombard her from high orbit if you have to," Kil'las said dismissively.

"As you wish, Predor," the Censor said, bowing as he stepped off of the platform and moved to exit the throne room. Most of the guards followed. Kil'las returned to his throne, paranoid thoughts beginning to invade his mind from all angles.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Sira'tak watched as the slums cleared out before her. The inferior beings filed out of their hovels, their fearful gaze cast upon the Rakata guard who were spreading out throughout the complex, calling the inhabitants out. She stood amidst a neighborhoodof multi-level dwellings built haphazardly upon each other with little regard for sense or order. The houses were built to house the miners who were supposed to be working on a nearby island. Although apparently very little of that work was taking place.

While the rest of Kil'las soldiers were busy she turned to her two bodyguards. "Juro'na, Kal'los," she said quietly. The two, who stood just behind her as they always had ever since their arrival on Oaka Prime, turned towards her attentively. "Begin searching for the runaway and her children. If any of Kil'nas's people question you tell them you are examining the city on my behalf."

"Will they believe such an excuse?" Juro'na asked. He was the younger and more inexperienced of the pair, although Sira'tak was confident in each of their abilities.

"It doesn't matter what they believe," Sira'tak answered. "I am a Sub-Predor."

"Very well," Kal'los said, his voice slightly deeper than Juro'na's, even though the pair were so similar in appearance and stature. They bowed in respect and then departed, blending seamlessly into the crowd and disappearing.

Sira'tak turned her attention back to the scene unfolding in front of her. The Rakata guards fanned out, keeping the crowd a respectful distance from their superior. A low level official, who wore a half-paudron vest in Kil'nas's colors, stepped forward.

"Sub-Predor, the domiciles have been cleared and are ready for your inspection," the official announced with a respectful bow of his head.

"Very well, proceed," Sira'tak said, motioning for the official to lead the way.

oOoOo

The capital city of Oaka Prime had been buzzing ever since Sira'tak's arrival. For the slaves there was a mix of hope and fear. Hope that this new official wouldn't be as bad as the current ones. Fear that she would be worse. Near the city's southern end, far from Kil'nas's palace and the landing platform, a series of multi-tiered mud brick huts stood at the very edge of the water. The constant barrage of waves had already collapsed several structures into the sea.

A small human boy with dirty auburn hair, which hung messily over his ears and eyes, emerged from the second floor of one of the huts, a bucket in one hand and a rope in the other. Casting surreptitious glances at the nearby houses he carefully maneuvereddown the narrow set of stairs that were set along the wall. Just as he reached the bottom corner where the side of the house ended an enormous wave crashed against the shore. The boy leaned away from the wave, which seemed ready to knock him off of his feet and carry him outto sea. Instead the water avoided him, as if an invisible forcesurrounded his body. The water curved around him and crashed into the street, but left him untouched.

The boy turned the bucket over, pouring out the small amount of saltwater it had collected, and continued on his way. He went up the street and between two buildings, emerging onto a more crowded thoroughfare. Trash was piled up along each side of the street. Beings of many species sat in huddled groups around fire pits, attempting to cook what little food they had. The boy emerged into a square that, in better times, might have been a market. At the center, atop a platform that surrounded it, was a well. Several lines of beings awaited their turn at the well, watched by a half dozen large Gamorreanswho used their size to bully the others.

He quietly got into one of the lines. He moved forward until he reached the nearest Gammorean, casting nervous looks in its direction all the while.

"What bring?" the Gamorreanasked, his grunting voice barely comprehensible. The boy set his bucket down and quickly searched his raggedy clothes. A moment later he offered a rock to the pig likealien who took it with a snatching motion. It was a flint stone, used to light fires. The Gamorreanheld it up to its snout and sniffed loudly, twice. "No good," it grunted, tossing the flint stone aside. It had hardly touched the ground before a human man grabbed it and ran off.

"Hey," the boy shouted angrily. "What are you doing?"

"Dumb rock no good. What else?" the Gamorrean grunted.

"That was a flint stone you dumb pig," the boy said. "That was my toll."

The Gamorreanglanced over to where it had thrown the flint stone, quickly realizingits mistake. The stone, and the human who had taken it, were long gone. "Got 'nother?"

"No, that was it," the boy answered.

Suddenly the Gamorreanraised a stone club and pushed the boy out of line with its other hand, sending him falling backwards. "No toll no water."

"I already gave you my toll," he said, quickly getting back to his feet. He reached out and the bucket, which he had dropped when he had been knocked over, leapt up and flew back into his hand.

The Gamorreanstared at the bucket, blinking his eyes as if they were deceiving him. His shock had interrupted his anger, although his club was still held aloft. But one of the other Gamorreans, who had been watching one of the other lines, had not witnessed the feat. It approached the boy from behind, raising a club and preparing to strike.

But just as the Gamorreanbegan to swing its club downwards its forearm was suddenly stuck, as if an invisible hand had reached out and grabbed it. The boy heard the commotion from the Gamorreanas it grunted and struggled to move its frozen arm and turned to find a human girl, approximately a year older than the boy, holding her hand aloft, her eyes glued to the Gamorreanand its club.

"C'mon Esson, let's get out of here," the girl shouted.

"Right," the boy agreed. The other Gamorreanhad risen out of its funk, and was preparing to resume its attack on Esson, spurred on now by fear after witnessing the plight of its fellow. The boy ran past the stuck Gamorreanand joined the girl, just as she released her invisible grip. Together they ran out of the square, the eyes of the crowd fixed on their backs.

"Thanks Maryn," the boy said as they continued their retreat through the streets. They paused to catch their breath in an alleyway between two residential buildings. The girl was a few inches taller than the boy, but both of them had the same dirty auburn hair. Both of them had piercing bright blue eyes.

"You lost the flint stone?" Maryn asked.

"Yeah, the dumb pig man was too stupid to recognizeit," Esson answered.

"Figures," she said with a sigh. "At least we don't need it to start a fire."

"We need water though," he said. "Mom is getting sicker."

"We'll just have to try another well," she said, her voice thick with determination. "One that isn't guarded by Gamorreansthis time." She poked her head out of the alleyway. The street was almost completely empty. For some reason most of the people seemed to be elsewhere.

"We're going to need something else to trade, Gamorreansor no," Esson said worriedly.

"We better start looking then," Maryn said, motioning that the way was clear before she stepped back out onto the street. Esson reluctantly followed.

oOoOo

Sira'tak's nostrils wrinkled in disgust as she was led through a dingy corridor in one of the habitations that had been cleared for her inspection. Very few of the rooms had windows or ventilation of any kind. There was hardly any furniture, no running water and no placeto store food. She now realizedwhy so many of the inferiors chose to loiter outside rather than indoors.

"I thought it smelled bad on the outside," she complained aloud. One of Kil'las men, who had hardly stepped out of her shadow since she had departed the palace, shrugged as if to say that the visit hadn't been his idea. She turned round, ready to begin her exit, when she noticed a room at the end of the hall, one that actually had a window. She noticed that this room, compared to the others, was clean. Catching one of Kil'las minders by surprise she changed course and went back down the corridor until she entered the lit room. Several linen mats had been placed around the light on the floor created by the window. And in the middle of the light a strange symbol had been etched into the floor, scratched out with a rock or some other primitive instrument. The etching was an imperfect circle surrounded by multiple waving rays. It looked almost like a star. Or perhaps the waving tentacles of a sea creature.

"What is that?" she asked, nodding towards the symbol.

"I don't pay attention to what the primitives scratch into the ground," the Rakata minder answered dismissively.

"Your helpfulness continues to astound," Sira'tak said dryly. Suddenly she felt a small tickle in the back of her mind. It was a telepathic signal from Juro'na, sent through the Force. He had found a lead. "I think I've seen enough," she announced. "I'd like to see the mines now."

"Very well," the Rakata official said. "I will summon a transport." He motioned for her to exit and, this time, she obliged.

oOoOo

Juro'na stood at the edge of the square, watching quietly as a pair of Gamorreansnear a well ruthlessly beat every smaller being they could get their hands on. The pale, purple skinned Rakata closed his eyes, reaching and observing the scene with the Force. The crowd around him was filled with fear and anger, most of it directed towards the two Gamorreansand their rampage. He could feel these darkemotions washing over him from the inferior beings, emotions that sharpened his own connection to the darkside.

But rather than let feelings of the inhabitants overwhelm him he focused his mind upon the two Gamorreans. The green pig-likehumanoids were filled with anger and hate. Anger at a recent embarrassment. Hate for those that had embarrassed them. Juro'na invaded their minds with his own, which wasn't hard to do considering their relative lack of intelligence. Juro'na saw the images of the human children through their eyes. He saw the children's effortless use of the Force, and then smiled.

He opened his eyes. His invasion of their minds had broken the pair of Gamorreansout of their rage. They held their clubs aloft, mid beating, a stupor apparently having fallen over them. Juro'na glanced around at the crowd, a mix of Humans, Gran and Noghri. They were on the verge of exploiting the situation for a counterattack.

Juro'na reached out with his hand, remembering a technique that Sira'tak had taught him. "They are nothing." He spoke softly but his voice echoed within the minds of every being in the square. "Take your revenge."

The crowd erupted at once, dozens of beings converging upon the two Gamorreans. Despite their size and strength the pair were ripped apart in an instant. Juro'na turned and moved away from the violence he was leaving in his wake. He recalled the memories he had pulledfrom the Gamorrean, noting which way the human children had ran. He closed his eyes momentarily, sending a telepathic message to his Master.

"I have found them," he said aloud, repeating his mental message.

oOoOo

Sira'tak gazed out over the calm sea that stretched beyond the coastline of the peninsula. She stood in the back of an airspeeder that was very much a scaled up version of the hover chariots that Kil'las's servants used to move about the city. The pilot stood at the front of the vessel, both of his three fingered hands placed above control panels that were absent any visible buttons or instruments. Two guards stood to either side behind the pilot, both of them staring out across the sea, although Sira'tak could sense their energies were instead focused on her. Behind the guards and opposite of herself stood the low level official that Kil'las had tasked with following her around.

To either side of the gold plated airship flew two unmanned Rakata fighters. The drones were shaped like thin birds-of-prey, with the same forward swept wings as other Rakata craft, but with plasma cannons instead of landing legs mounted to each side of the body. Although the drones operated autonomously they received their instructions through the Forceof a Rakata controller; in this case from the pilot who was directing the airship towards their destination. If she wanted to remove the drones from the air her first step would be to remove the pilot from his controls…

Sira'tak's idle yet violent thoughts were interrupted by the arrival of their destination on the horizon. A small chain of volcanic islands interrupted the endless panorama of the sea like a necklace of serrated teeth running in a line from northwest to southeast. Unlike the terrain back on the peninsula, which was mostly rolling sand dunes and sandy beaches, the islands before them were made up of black, craggy rock that shot up out of the water at steep inclines. The water on the leeward side of the three largest islands was discoloredwith plumes of orange, yellow and red; hues too bright to be caused by anything natural. As the airship and the pair of drones accompanying it grew closer the mining facilities on the face of one of the mountains came into view.

The entrance to the mining shafts were like a series of insect holes drilled into the sides of the mountain, seemingly at random and with little regard to safety; there were numerous shafts that seemed to have hit lava tubes, making the island seem as if it were bleeding magma. Makeshift cranes and processing equipment were scattered about on the hillsides, most of it in extreme disrepair. Enormous fabric tents, consisting of not much more than sailing masts mounted on land, provided the only living quarters for the workers.

Their airship began to descend towards a landing pad on the largest island while the two drones turned into a banking maneuverthat would allow them circle overhead. The pad was built out of the same black metal that most Rakata structures were; it was the only sign of advanced technology on the island. The airship settled gently onto the pad and the two guards were the first to disembark, followed by Kil'las's official. Sira'tak took her time, silently extending her senses. She could sense several thousands of workers occupying the tents on the hillsides and beaches. She could sense none of them at work in the mines.

She moved around the outside ofthe airship and followed the others towards a walkway that led from the pad to the rocky beach. As she walked she noticed that the discoloration in the water came from mounds of minerals that had been dumped into the sea. The discoloration was oozing out of the material almost as if it were bleeding. As Sira'tak looked up and down the beach she noticed similar mounds of minerals in the water.

Sira'tak felt a projected sense of annoyance from Kil'las's official through the Force, which was immediately duplicated by both of the guards. She shifted her attention to them and projected her own sense of annoyance.

"It seems the mines are inactive," she spoke aloud.

"The merciful Predor Kil'las grants the inferiors one day of rest for every six days of work. If we did not the population experience increased attrition."

Sira'tak gestured with one hand towards the nearest mound of minerals. "And what they do produce during those six days is dumped into the ocean?"

"The purpose of the work is to keep the population at reasonable levels," the official stated plainly. "Predor Kil'las has no use for rocks. His forcesare equipped by the Starforge."

With an upward sweep of her hand some of the minerals under discussion roseout of the water and floated towards Sira'tak. She caught it midair and, with only some slight exertion, crushed the white, chalky material. "If I am not mistaken this is cortosis," she said, allowing the crumbled remains to fall to the ground.

"All of the mines on Oaka Prime produce cortosis," the official said.

"Of course they do, because that is the only thing worth the trouble of mining," Sira'tak retorted, a small amount of anger seeping into her voice. "It is one of the few minerals that the StarForge cannot produce."

"I didn't know that," the official admitted.

"But you're not producing it, are you. Cortosis doesn't do the InfiniteEmpire any good dissolving away at the bottom of the sea," she said, the eyes on the sides of her head narrowing.

"This is Predor Kil'las's world," the official said, ignoring her anger. "If he wants to dump its wealth into the sea, that is his prerogative."

"As you say," Sira'tak said, backing down with a shrug of her shoulders. "Let's get on with the tour."

oOoOo

Esson and Maryn continued to navigate their way through the streets, carefully hugging the sides of the buildings as they went. They were not on the lookout for the Rakata overlords. The masters hardly ever bothered to patrol this far from the palace or the landing pad ziggurat and had little interest policing their underlings. The streets were emptier than usual, even accounting for the seasonally hot weather. Esson could sense that much of the population was drawn towards the centerof the city, towards some sort of activity that held little concern for the human children or their mother. Instead they were on the lookout for thugs similar to the Gamorreansback at the well, beings that had bullied themselves into positions of authority through violent means.

While Esson took in the surrounding neighborhoodswith his Forcesenses Maryn stayed laser focused on their current path. At times his sister had to physically push him outof the way of deep potholes in the street or broken down carts, lest he blunder into them. But then, just as she gently steered her brother away from a wookiee who was leaning against a wall that was so weak with hunger it could barely stand Esson pulled his hand out of his older sister's grasp.

"What it is it?" she asked, her voice filled with annoyance.

"There is...something wrong back there?" he answered, his voice soft and ethereal.

"Back where?" Maryn asked. She focused her senses in the direction he was looking, but found this particular skill more difficult than her brother did.

"From the wells. The people are fighting the Gamorreans."

"Good, hopefully they're getting what they deserve," Maryn stated.

"But, they aren't doing it on their own. It's like someone pushed them."

Before she could respond to that ominous assumption she noticed something that her brother did not. A shadow drifted down the middle of the street, followed by the sound of measured footsteps. She withheld a gasp when she realizedit was a Rakata, and one that was slowly moving right towards them.

"We have to move," Maryn said, grabbing her brother by the arm and shaking him outof his reverie. But just as he shook his head and began to move with her she felt an invisible hand grip her around the waist and pull her backwards.

"Maryn!" Esson shouted, reaching out for his sister just as she left her feet and hurtled through the air. Resisting the fearful temptation to run away he instead ran after her. He stopped in his tracks metersfrom the purple skinned Rakata, who was gazing down at him in curiosity.

"Put her down!" he shouted. Juro'na smiled viciously at the boy, but his eyes narrowed slightly when he felt the little humans raw power pushed against his body.

"You have your mother's power," Juro'na spoke. "It seems Sira'tak was right."

"I...you know about mom?" Esson asked, his attention snapping ever so slightly out of focus.

"Don't tell him anything," Maryn ordered through gritted teeth. The Rakatan's grip on her body was as solid as rock, yet he was not squeezing her to the point of injury. "Run away."

"I'm not going to leave you behind," Esson said adamantly.

"You should listen to the girl," Juro'na agreed. But, a sharp toothed smirk upon face, he reached out with his other hand, plucking the boy off of his feet and holding him captive just as was the other child.

"Let him go!" Maryn shouted. She shoved outwards with one of her hands. This time Juro'na stumbled backwards. The girl broke out of his grasp and landed on her feet, momentarily as astonished by the feat as Juro'na was.

"It seems you have power too," Juro'na said. Despite the impact of her push he still held the boy in his grasp. He raised his other hand and his short staff, half the length compared to the version that Kil'las's subordinates used, leapt into his grip. But, unlike Kil'las's Primus in the duel against his mistress, he didn't bother charging his weapon with the DarkSide of the Force. He wouldn't need it.

Before she could react Juro'na leapt at the girl. She managed to raise an arm against his impending strike, displaying quick reflexes, but the invisible shield she instinctively raised to protect herself was no match. His staff ripped through it and impacted against her forearm, breaking both of the bones. Her cry of pain was silenced an instant later by a follow up strike that hit her in the head with enough forceto knock her unconscious, but not enough to kill her. Her small body fell to sandblasted street with a soft thump.

"No!" Esson shouted. It was now his turned to break out of Juro'na's grasp, his power fueled by primal fear and rage. Juro'na felt the boy's power wash over him, but this time he maintained his footing. Esson ran forward before shoving both his hands at the Rakata, driving a blast of air towards his opponent.

But Juro'na swiped outwards with his staff, cutting the blast into halves that deflected away from him harmlessly. "Nice try," he said. He reached out and grabbed the boy with the Force, pulling the little human towards him. He felt another blast of air, this one more desperate but less focused than the last, before he swung outwards and smacked the boy across the forehead with his staff. He fell silently to the ground, landing beside his sister.

"Powerful little runts," Juro'na admitted begrudgingly. He glanced around his surroundings. If their struggle had drawn any attention from the inhabitants of this particular neighborhoodhe saw no signs of it. He placed his staff back into its restraint around the back of his hip and then lifted both of the children into the air with the Force. "Let's get the both of you to the palace," he said to himself.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

Juro'na stood at the end of an alleyway, peering around the corner at the wide boulevard that led up to Kil'las's palace. Sixteen guards, eight placed before the first set of steps and eight at the top, stood vigilant. The two children leaned against the wall behind him, looking sullen but alert. The Rakata had been unable to carry them along with the Forcethe closer he got to the palace. The closer he got the thicker the crowds became, and he did not wish to draw attention to himself. And so, with some prompting from his powers, he had awoken them from the impact induced sleep he had inflicted upon them. He didn't have to threaten them much to earn their compliance. The promise to kill one child if the other escaped, after excruciating torture, seemed to have done the trick.

He felt a familiar presence approaching from behind and turned to find Kal'los entering the other side of the alleyway. He had a sour expression on his face.

"I take it you failed to find the mother?" Juro'na asked. The two children glanced at him angrily.

"Indeed," Kal'los answered. "She is either very weak or very good at hiding her energy."

"Or perhaps a little bit of both," Juro'na added.

Kal'los glanced down at the siblings. "Perhaps we could rip her location from their minds."

"I've already tried that," Juro'na revealed. He glanced down at them. "But they are stubborn and surprisingly strong with the Force."

Kal'los crossed his arms across his chest. "That's never stopped you before."

"Yes, but those methods leave...scars. I think our mistress would like to decide what is appropriate."

"Yes," Kal'los agreed. He approached the opening of the alley way and glanced down the boulevard towards the palace. The crowd was increasing in size. It seems Sira'tak's arrival had agitated the populace. "But we don't know when she will get back from her tour, and we can't spend too much time unaccounted for."

"Then there is nothing else to do," Juro'na said. Wrinkles formed across his forehead, between the two eyestalks at each side of his head, the Rakata approximation of a frown.

"What is it?" Kal'los asked.

"I sense that this will not go well."

"There is only one way to find out," Kal'los said. Suddenly the Rakata pushed Esson out of the alleyway and into the boulevard. "Let's go," he snarled, following.

Juro'na motioned with a sweeping hand towards Maryn. Her eyes narrowed at him but she obeyed, following in the wake of Kal'los as he steered her brother through the crowd. Juro'na took up the rear.

Despite the hundreds of beings filling up the street the pair of Rakata were easily able to navigate their way through using gentle nudges from the Force. The people would part for them, barely even aware of what they were doing. As they approached the steps of the enormous pyramidal structure the guards finally took notice of them.

"Halt!" one of them shouted raising his staff from the ground and pointing it at Kal'los. "Who are you to approach the palace of Predor Kil'las?" The fact that they were fellow Rakata seemed to inspire even more suspicion in the guards, rather than less.

"We serve Sub-Predor Sira'tak," Juro'na answered.

"Then why are you not by her side?" the guard asked.

Juro'na and Kal'los glanced at each other. Any explanation other than the truth, or at least truth adjacent, would earn them even more suspicion. There was no reason, other than making a meal of them, for Juro'na and Kal'los to be bringing two human children into the palace. Unless the children were Forcesensitive.

"These two have the gift," Kal'los spoke at last, gesturing towards the two children. "Our mistress sensed their presence in the city and sent us to seize them."

"I see," the guard said, looking from Esson to Maryn. "Why did she not ask one of us to do this?"

Kal'los motioned towards the large crowd of people behind them. "It seems you've all got a lot on your hands right now. The Sub-Predor didn't wish to further burden Kil'las's resources."

"That's Predor Kil'las to you," the guard corrected angrily.

"Of course," Juro'na said, bowing his head slightly. "The Sub-Predor wished to give the pair of us additional experience hunting the gifted."

"We're young," Kal'los added, not bothering to keep the sarcasm out of his voice.

The guard paused for a moment, his eyes flickering. They could tell he was mentally checking in with his superiors. "Very well," the guard said at last. "You will take them to the dungeons."

"To the dungeons," Kal'los repeated, giving Esson a shove towards the steps. The guards parted, allowing them to pass, and the pair of Rakata ascended the steps, their captives in tow.

oOoOo

Sira'tak raised a hand and scratched behind one of her eyestalks, even though she did not have an itch. The gesture was meant to convey her boredom to Kil'las's guide and two guards she had been stuck with all day. After visiting the mines the tour had moved to one of Oaka Prime's largest islands, or what passed for a continent on the very oceanic world. Here the sandy desert gave way to a scrubby plain, filled with grasses and shrub-like trees. A small grouping of huts, which Sira'tak refused to dignify with the title of 'village', stood before her. The inferiors had exited their huts and bowed in a show of respect towards their masters. As she gazed at them the thought occurred to her that, as grubby as they were, these ones had it better than the ones living on the peninsula.

The guide gestured towards a group of large herbivores grazing just beyond the circle of huts. "They call them nerf," the Rakata said loudly.

"And these...nerf herders..are enough to supply the population with food? Along with some amount of catch from the sea?" Sira'tak asked.

"Oh, no, not quite enough," the guide said matter-of-factly. "We suspect they make up the deficit by eating other. Which is another way of managing the population."

Sira'tak's forehead wrinkled in disgust. Rakata were known to cannibalizeeach other, but it was a ritualistic practice full of symbolism and meaning, reserved for the defeat of a powerful rival. To resort to eating one's own people as a matter of survival was a gross humiliation.

She approached the gathered herders, which seemed to be equal proportions of Humans,Wookiee, and Zabrak. "How many herding groups are there like this?"

"Approximately a thousand. A few hundred similar groups live on one of the smaller continents. They hunt some kind of lizard there. I don't remember what they call them but Predor Kil'las enjoys…"

"Enough," Sira'tak growled. She walked before the herders, who averted their eyes as she passed by. She glanced past them, towards a fire pit at the centerof the encircled huts. In front of the charred bits of wood lay a circle made of stones, with smaller stones emanating from the circle in undulating waves. It was the same symbol she had noticed inside of the residential building she had inspected earlier in the day. "What is that?"

The inferiors cowered in fear, but none volunteered an answer.

"That thing again?" the guide asked.

One of the guards stepped forward, violently stomping the butt of his staff into the ground. "Your Sub-Predor asked you a question!"

The herders glanced at the guard and his staff, which was sending off sparks of purple energy, and yet still none of them spoke.

"Execute one of them," the guide ordered.

The guard stepped forward, about to plunge his spearheaded end of his staff into the nearest herder, but stopped as Sira'tak raised a hand.

"That won't be necessary," she said dismissively. She turned to a wookiee and closed her eyes. "What is that symbol? Explain."

There was a pause as the wookiee succumbed to her influence. It began a torrent of growls, howls, and barks; words in a language that neither Sira'tak or the other Rakata understood.

But, connected to the wookiees' mind, Sira'tak did not need to understand the words in order to understand their meaning.

"It is a symbol of the far outsiders," the wookiee explained, its voice without emotion while under Sira'tak's influence. "The travelersbetween the void. The flayed ones. The children of…"

"That's enough titles now," Sira'tak said, cutting the wookiee off. "Are these far outsiders real or imagined?"

"Real."

"You said they travel between the void? They possess hyperdrive?" The wookie seemed confused at the term. "They can travel between the stars?" Sira'tak clarified.

"Yes."

"Is one of them here now?"

"Not now."

"When was the last time you were visited by one of these 'outsiders'?"

The wookiee suddenly began to resist Sira'tak's influence. It looked to its fellow herders for help in answering the question.

"Two moons ago," a zabrak woman answered as Sira'tak shifted her influence to the entire group and re-exerted her will upon them.

Sira'tak turned towards Kil'las's guide. "How long is that in Lehon time?"

"Approximately thirty rotations," he answered.

"And where did this far outsider go after it was done visiting you?" Sira'tak asked.

The entire group of herders pointed upwards into the sky. Sira'tak scowled before turning away from them.

"Do you want us to execute them?" one of the guards asked.

"What for?" Sira'tak asked, venom in her voice. "So they can produce even less food and the population will grow even weaker and more useless that it is now?"

"These far outsiders are likely just a myth," the guide began to suggest. "I have heard that there is a grass found in the plains that, if burned and inhaled, produces hallucinations in the inferiors."

"You are as stupid and weak as your Predor," Sira'tak growled. Both of the guards responded by aiming their staffs at her.

"Treason!" the guide shouted. "You will apologizeor…"

In a motion so fast it was almost a blur Sira'tak grabbed both of her bladeless swords and ignited them, the sound of the crackling energy sending the nerf herders scrambling.

One of the guards swung the blade of his staff at her neck, but she deflected it with one blade with such power that the guard was thrown off balance. The other guard tried to impale her in the same instant but she kicked the side of the staff with one foot, causing the thrust to miss.

While both guards were off balance Sira'tak shoved outwards with an enormous blast of Forceenergy. The guide cowered and thought himself dead, but the blast was not meant for him.

Instead the wave of energy struck the golden airship parked just outside the circle ofhuts, where the pilot was frantically attempting to call in the drone fighters. The wave struck the side of the airship and flipped it over, throwing out the pilot and then crushing him underneath its mass.

Sira'tak had no time to appreciate her handiwork. Both guards attacked at once, one aiming for her chest and the other for her stomach. She deflected the high thrust and tried to sidestep the other, but didn't entirely succeed. The blade, energizedby the darkside of the Force, seared through her ceremonial armorand drew a small line of blue blood.

Sira'tak snarled and refocused her energy, causing both of her blades to double in length. This took both guards by surprise. One of them tried to deflect a blow directed at his abdomen that instead caught his hip, while the other spun backwards and away.

The injured Rakatan tried to limp backwards and raise his staff to ward off another blow, but Sira'tak pulled it outof his grasp with the Forceand sent it flying into the other guard's neck. He fell to the ground, already dead, while the other attempted to summon a blast of Forceenergy to send ar Sira'tak. She interrupted him by stabbing him through the chest.

Sira'tak turned her attention to the guide.

"Sub-Predor...please...I recognizeyour power and your authority."

"Kil'las is going to recognizeit soon enough, but in the meantime I can't have you go whispering what you've heard here."

She reached up one hand, preparing to lift the weakling into the air, when she heard a sound that gave her pause. The drone fighters were circling around, and seemed to regard her as an enemy.

"Well, that is a problem," Sira'tak admitted. The airship was still turned over, and wouldn't do her much good even if it wasn't. She glanced around for anything she could use, gathering the Forcearound in what she knew would be futile attempt to ward off the high powered energy the drones were capable of firing at her.

A loud moo-ing sound managed to penetrate the distant, but steadily increasing, howl of the Rakata drones. Sira'tak suddenly realizedthat the nerf surrounding the huts were apparently oblivious to the conflict raging amidst them. The herd continued to chomp down on the meagergrasses, despite their herders running for their lives in every direction.

Sira'tak released the energy flowing through the hilts of her bladeless weapons, powering them down and returning them to her hip. She held out her hands and closed her eyes.

Up in the air the drones were approaching firing range, flying in on parallel courses, their wingtips just metersfrom each other. Just as they activated their weapons and trained them on the renegade Rakata below them the entire herd of nerf slowly raised into the air. Finally the herbivores reacted in surprise, kicking their hooved feet in a vain attempt at returning to the ground. With a vicious grin on her face Sira'tak raised one palm towards the drone fighters, and then the other. She repeated the motion, and each time another one of the poor bovines shot towards the drones at high velocity.

The first nerf exploded against one of the drones in a shower of red mist. It did little damage to the armoredhull of the craft, but the forceof the impact seemed to confuse it. It drifted off course to avoid a second nerf projectile as a third one impacted against the nose of the other drone. It too drifted upwards to avoid another nerf, and unintentionally clipped the wing of its partner. Both drones tumbled out of control, all attempts at correcting their course interrupted by the additional impacts of nerf against their hulls. Moments later both craft struck the ground with enormous speed, throwing torrents of dirt and fire into the air.

Sira'tak lowered her hands, allowing the remaining nerf that had not yet become anti-air artillery to return to the ground. Most of them began looking for grass to eat as if nothing had happened. The Sub-Predor glanced around herself, pleased with the level of destruction she had created, but now considering her next moves.

Just as she began to walk towards the overturned airship she felt a ripple in the Forceas Kil'las's guide telekinetically brought one of the dead guard's spears into his hands.

"What are you going to do with that?" Sira'tak asked incredulously.

The guide had dirt covering his head and shoulders, fallout from the downed drones. To Sira'tak's surprise he suddenly dropped to one knee, placing the spear in the dirt in front of himself.

"As I was saying before, Sub-Predor," the guide began, his voice shaking slightly. "I pledge myself to your service in recognition of your power. If you are to overthrow the Predor you will need representatives to carry out your will from the prior administration. Many will seek to undermine you if they cannot challenge you directly."

"I'm well versed in undermining authority figures," Sira'tak stated absently. "Do you understand why I killed those guards and the pilot?"

"They heard about these 'far outsider' rumorsas you questioned the inferiors."

"And the key takeaway from that questioning was?"

"I…" the guide began before trailing off.

"Your answer will have no impact on whether you keep your life or not."

"These 'far outsiders' might possess the secret of hyperdrive technology."

"Hyperdrive technology that does not require the use of the Forceto function. We call ourselves the 'InfiniteEmpire' but our Empire is nothing more than a string of systems scattered throughout the galaxy; systems possessing a strong signature in the Force. Decoupled from that limitation our Empire could become truly infinite."

"And the Rakata that discovered that technology could become the next Over-Predor."

"Now you understand."

"I do. And I understand why you must kill me."

"Perhaps," Sira'tak said, using the Forceto lift him off of his feet. Unlike before the guide did not plead for his life or struggle. "Or perhaps you are just as stupid as you were before, but carrying a secret inside of the stupid mind of yours." She released her invisible grasp on his body, allowing him to fall to his feet.

"Sub-Predor?" the guide asked.

"Your Master**'**s drones are quite old. Relics of a long ago war. It took everyone by surprise when they malfunctioned, but, despite our losses, we prevailed."

The guide glanced at the two dead guards. "I can burn the bodies."

"That would likely suffice," Sira'tak agreed. "What is your name?"

"Nol'las."

"A relative of the Predor?"  
**"**The son of a distant cousin. He never seems to remember."

"Very well, Nol'las. I will accept you into my service. But if you betray me I will kill you and allow the inferiors to eat your corpse."

"I understand," Nol'las said, bowing his head. Sira'tak turned her attention towards the overturned airship. She had less confidence in Nol'las than she did the nerf, but she needed his help in selling a cover story, even if it would not hold up for long.

She reached out a hand and the airship lifted into the air before flipping and returning to its upright position. The pilot's blood was splattered across the hull. "Be quick, Nol'las," Sira'tak called. "We'll have to hunt down the herders. We can leave no witnesses."

"Understood Sub-Predor," Nol'las answered as he focused on summoning purple lightning to scorch the guard's bodies.

Next to Sira'tak one of the surviving nerf moo'ed at her. She was standing next to a particularly tasty clump of grass. "You can keep your life," Sira'tak said to it in amusement.

oOoOo

Juro'na and Kal'los led their small prisoners through the darkened halls of the palace. The children followed silently, not daring an attempt at escape. Despite some rudeness their captors had not hurt them past their initial capture out in the streets.

Sira'tak's subordinates paused, however, as they neared one of the lifts that granted access to the dungeons. Six of Kil'las's warriors stood waiting for them, along with the Predor's Censor. The haughty Rakata glanced down at the children with a sneer before focusing his attention on them.

"You will transfer your prisoners to my custody," the Censor ordered.

Juro'na and Kal'los glanced at each other for a moment. Finally Kal'los tilted his head to one side. "These humans belong to Sira'tak."

"They belong to Predor Kil'las, seeing as they are on his world," the Censor replied. "If you do not give them up we will kill you."

"Then it seems we have no choice," Juro'na said. He stepped aside and pushed Esson towards the Censor. Kil'las snarled but did the same, nearly throwing Maryn towards the warriors. "What are you doing to do with them?" Juro'na asked.

"They will be taken to the dungeons," the Censor said quietly. Two of the guards grabbed the children and moved them onto the lift. "Where they will await the Culling."

Juro'na and Kal'los glanced at each other once more. They both knew what the Cullingwas. It was a common practice throughout the InfiniteEmpire. Whenever Forcesensitive beings were caught amongst the inferior they would be thrown in prison, and when the prisons were full public executions would follow. The manner of the Cullingvaried. Sometimes Predors would forcethe prisoners to kill each other, and the last survivor might become a servant of their lord. Other times they unleashed Rakata Destroyers, giant autonomous warmachines, onto them and watched the carnage.

"When is the next Culling?" Juro'na asked.

"Unknown," the Censor began. "But I'm sure that my Mastercan be persuaded to move it up. Is there a problem?"

Kal'los was about to answer before Juro'na cut him off. "No problem," he answered. "They are just humans, after all."

"Indeed," the Censor said, although he did not seem convinced. He and the Rakata warriors stepped onto the lift, which promptly descended out of view.

"What are we going to do now?" Kal'los asked. "Sira'tak wants those two alive. How else will she draw out the mother?"

"There is nothing we can do about it at the moment," Juro'na pointed out. "It will take time to organizea Culling, however they do it on this world. Sira'tak should be back by then."

Kal'los scowled and then turned back down the corridor. "Until then I will familiarizemyself with Kil'las's palace," he said, punching the wall with the side of his hand before disappearing down the hall.

oOoOo

The dungeons at the heart of Kil'las's palace were similar in aestheticto the upper passageways, although the black stone was not polished and the red light emanating from the ceiling was less bright. The Rakatan guards led Esson and Maryn through a narrow passageway and into a much larger room. Rows of cages, built of black metallic bars, lined each side of the hall. The beings inside the cages were a pitiful bunch, a mix of all of the species living under Kil'las's rule. Most sat in a darkcorner of their cages, attempting to disappear from sight.

"This one will do," the Censor said, gesturing towards an empty cage. With a wave of their hand one of the guards unlocked the door, and the children found themselves pushed inside. A moment later the Rakata disappeared with hardly a glance at any of the other prisoners. It was silent within the prison block, except for the sound of haggard breathing. None of the the other prisoners seemed interested in speaking with one another. Everyone seemed resigned to their fates.

Esson moved around the perimeter of the cage, getting to know the space, while Maryn gripped a pair of bars in the locked door, pushing them and testing their strength. She pushed not just with her arms, but with the Forceas well, but the result was the same. Nothing. Giving up, she turned to find her brother resisting the urge to gag, his gaze turned purposefully towards the ceiling.

"What is it?" she asked.

"There is dried blood covering the floor," he answered. She gazed downwards and finally noticed that the black tile was stained in various shades of red, orange and purple. Her nose wrinkled but she found herself hardly surprised. These living conditions, as bad as they were, weren't much different than living in the city.

"What are we going to do?" she asked.

Esson hesitated, before answering. "There is only one thing I can think of. Call for help."

"Mother told us to never reach out to her," Maryn pointed out.

"Out of fear that the Rakata would notice us," Esson responded quietly. "I think that ship has sailed."

"But...do you think she'll be well enough to even leave the house?"

"Even if she isn't we have to let her know that we've been taken," Esson whispered. Despite the disgusting floor the boy sat and crossed his legs. He held out his hands and then looked up at his sister. "I need your help."

"Fine," she said at last. She took a seat in front of her brother and took his hands. Together they closed their eyes and began to reach out with the Force, using the depressing aura surrounding them in an attempt at hiding their signature. If any of the other prisoners noticed this seemingly peculiar behaviornobody made a sound.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

Sira'tak gazed out over the calm, sapphire coloredseas as their airship neared the city. She had allowed Nol'las to fly even though the guide's promise of total allegiance had bought him little trust on her part. But the focus it required to fly the ship, mentally interfacing with the controls through the Force, would have left her too vulnerable. She could sense the city even before it came into view; it was a wretched hive of misery that sent waves through the Force, a mental broadcast of despair. Her eyes narrowed at the realization that a total collapse was imminent if Kil'las was permitted to rule for much longer.

Sira'tak's thoughts were interrupted by sight of a bright light flashing on and off from the airship's control console, an indication that Nol'las was receiving a message. Gripping one of the bladeless hilts at her hip and extending her senses to look out for any potential danger, she moved to the fore of the craft.

"I'm assuming they've noticed that we are absent an escort," Sira'tak said.

"They have," Nol'las confirmed, momentarily looking away from his controls. "What should I tell them?"

"The cover story I mentioned earlier should suffice..." Sira'tak answered, trailing off at the last. She sensed a familiar presence within the city, fleeting but recognizable to someone who was properly attuned with the Force. Her father's Houndhad revealed herself at last. "Tell them that our airship was damaged during the drone's malfunction."

"As you wish, Sub-Predor," Nol'las said. "But I think that they will notice that it is not…" he trailed off as Sira'tak pulled one her weapons from her hip and activated it, a rippling blade of energy appearing where there was nothing before. She plunged it into the side of the airship, just above one of its drive units. "Nevermind," Nol'las added.

"Put the ship down above the eastern slums," she ordered.

"As you wish," Nol'las said before returning to the flight controls. The airship began a clumsy descent, listing dangerously to the side as smoke began to shoot out of the hull. Just as it seemed that the craft would smack into the ground at high speed Nol'las pulled up on his controls. The airship's momentum lurched upwards, a current of air beneath it kicking up a dust cloud and obscuring the confines of a decrepit courtyard. Sira'tak leapt out of the back of the ship and landed next to a drinking well. Nol'las followed suita moment later, abandoning the airship moments before it crashed into a nearby apartment building.

Rock and stone fell upon the craft as it burst into flames. Nol'las looked upon the destruction their landing had wrought as dozens of beings scurried away from the crash site, fleing every direction in terror.

"Very subtle," Sira'tak remarked, waving a hand and sending a gentle wave of Forceenergy into the wind. The dust from the crash billowed from the pair of Rakata as if it too were fleeing from them.

"What should we do now?" Nol'las asked, dusting himself off with one of his three fingered hands.

"I have business to attend to," Sira'tak answered. "You will return to the palace and report that I am missing, due to the crash. As soon as you can I would like you to connect with my warriors; Juro'na and Kal'los. Tell them to enact the next phase of our plan."

"So, you really did come here with the intention of overthrowing Kil'las," Nol'las said matter-of-factly.

The eyes on either side of Sira'tak's head narrowed. "We planned for several contingencies, which included confrontations with Kil'las. Seeing as you have been in my service for mere hours I do not feel compelled to entrust you with the knowledge of our true purpose. Do you want me to reiterate the consequences of betrayal?"

"No, Sub-Predor," Nol'las said, bowing his head in respect. "But Kil'las regards the consequences of betrayal much the same as you do."

"Then you had best become a very convincing liar between now and when you arrive at the palace," she responded. Sira'tak could sense a squadron of drones beginning to move towards their position. Their crash landing had been noticed. "It is time to move."

"Of course," Nol'las agreed. Sira'tak moved quickly, a Forceenhanced leap placing her atop one of the nearby buildings and then another removing her from sight. Watching her vanish, the Rakata guide placed his hands together before cracking his knuckles. "Long live the Predor…" he murmured under his breath. Nol'las broke into a jog, moving through cloud of dust and smoke that still poured outwards from the crash site and disappearing from the scene.

oOoOo

"Time to move Jaelin," a human woman said to herself. She leaned through the opening of a door frame, half of her body obscured in shadow and half revealed by the sunlight. She wore a tattered cloak, the fabric coated in enough dirt that its original colorwas hard to identify. Her long red hair dangled in front of her face, also so dirty that its red colorwas hard to see. Her forehead was pale and covered in sweat. Dark circles hung beneath her eyes.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered softly, her voice hoarse. Jaelin had found few options for herself when she had discovered that her children were Forcesensitive. Rather than let them be taken and turned into Hounds, servants of the Rakata trained to hunt and kill for their masters, she had fled. But it was impossible to flee from the realm of the InfiniteEmpire. Rakata hyperdrives only allowed travel between worlds that were particularly strong in the Force, regardless of distance. That meant the ship she had commandeered could only take her to worlds that had already been conquered by the Rakata or were soon about to be.

She had chosen Oaka Prime because its ruler was relatively quiet in the feudal politics that predominated the Empire. It was a backwater with an elderly ruler. Even so, Jaelin knew that one day her children would be discovered. Esson and Maryn were simply too powerful in the Forceto escape notice forever.

Jaelin exited the ramshackle building she had called home for the past year and entered the streets. They were mostly empty. Anyone who wasn't hiding in their homes had been drawn to the palace. There was an energy in the air that even those who were blind to the Forcecould feel. Something big was happening.

Jaelin could sense it too, even while living the half life her illness had left her in. She had thought that she had been spared from the plague that her homeworld had been suffering from, before she had been taken by Tora'tak to serve as his Hound. She had been wrong. Her power in the Forcehad bought her years, but eventually even constant meditation had not been enough. Blood dripped from her nose and ears as she slowly moved down the street towards the palace.

A distant explosion reverberated through the streets. Jaelin turned in its direction, sensing a familiar presence. _Sira'tak._She smiled in spite of herself. So the Legad had sent his daughter after his wayward Hound. Or, more accurately, for his Hound's children.

"That explains the commotion," she said aloud. "Where Sira'tak goes, chaos follows."

Jaelin felt a surge of renewed focus. She needed to get to her children, quickly. Fortunately, as weak as she felt, the Forcewas still strong in her.

oOoOo

Outside of the palace the retinue of guards had doubled in number, with a line of thirty two Rakata warriors holding their spears at attention. Their light shoulder armorand vests were replaced with breastplates of heavier construction, a cortosis-durasteel fiberweave that gleamed in hues somewhere between gold and silver in the afternoon sunlight. Kil'las's Censor descended the long line of steps that ran down the front of the obsidian ziggurat. When he reached the lowest tier he held one hand aloft and the phalanx of warriors sprung into action.

They lowered their spears, the pointy ends towards the massive crowd of people that had flooded into the plaza at the foot of the palace. The line moved forward and the nearest members of the crowd attempted to get out of the way. But doing so was difficult, as the vast majority of the crowd could see little of what was happening. As the line of Rakata moved forward, quicker than the edge of the crowd could retreat, they began thrusting outwards with their spears, impaling anyone who failed to get out of the way. Panic set in as bodies continued to fall, and soon the silently retreating crowd became a screaming mass. After moving approximately a hundred metersforward, the line of Rakata warriors halted, their feet stained with blood.

Other Rakata began to emerge from the palace; servants carrying Kil'las's banner, which was a red outline resembling the vertically winged sphere of the StarForge on a black background, with a spearhead dominating the center, descended the steps. Others followed, carrying metallic spheres until they reached the bottom rung of steps. They threw them into the air, but instead of falling down the spheres caught in the air and hovered under their own power. The spheres moved until they formed a semi circle above the center of the crowd. A moment later they began emitting rays of light that soon coalesced into the head of Predor Kil'las.

"Attention subjects," Kil'las said in the common tongue. His face was wrinkled and drained of color, but his eyes projected focus and power. "A Cullingwill begin in one hour. Your attendance is mandatory."

The light faded and so too did the projection of the Predor. But the orbs remained in position as the rest of the preparations began. The warriors fanned out into a three sided square, forming an open space behind them where the Cullingcould take place.

Atop the first tier, standing behind the Censor and some of the other officials, stood Juro'na and Kal'los. The pair watched as large objects began to float out of the ziggurat and towards the square, gold plated set piecesto capable of assembling themselves into an elaborate stage.

"I can sense our mistress," Juro'na said quietly to his counterpart "Yet she has not reached out to us."

Kal'los glanced over at him before responding. "Sira'tak likely thinks it is unwise to do so. Kil'las and his sycophants are on high alert."

"Speaking of…" Juro'na said, nodding his head towards a Rakata emerging from the crowd near the bottom of the ziggurat. "Isn't that the guide she has been travelingwith?"  
**"**Indeed it is," Kal'los acknowledged. Gripping his staff he moved behind the other Rakata gathered around the Censor and descended the steps. Juro'na followed.

Although surprised at the guide's appearance the warriors monitoring the crowd allowed Nol'las to pass. Before he could reach the first steps of the palace Sira'tak's apprentices intercepted him.

"Where is our Mistress?" Juro'na asked, anger dripping into his voice.

"_Our_Mistressis in the city," Nol'las answered knowingly. "She asked me to tell you to begin the next phase of your plan. Whatever that means."

"Why should we trust you?" Kal'los asked suspiciously.

Nol'las hesitated before answering. "Predor Kil'las has no use for tricks. He believes himself strong, but I have seen true strength for the first time. From Sira'tak."

"Where is she?" Kal'los repeated.

"In the city," Nol'las repeated back with a shrug. "She didn't tell me what she was doing, only that she had business. I am to report to Predor Kil'las that she is missing, per her instructions."

"It does sound like Sira'tak, to reveal only the next step, and not the entire path forward," Juro'na commented.

"Fine," Kal'los said, flexing the muscles in his shoulders and cracking his knuckles. "You know what to do?"

"I do," Juro'na answered, glancing towards the mass of anxious people gathered in the square.

"You will follow me," Kal'los instructed the guide. "I require your access queries."

"As you wish," Nol'las said, nodding. The trio broke up, with Kal'los and Nol'las making their way up the steps of the palace, and Juro'na heading in the opposite direction, towards the square. Overhead the last few pieces of the stage were falling into place.

oOoOo

Jaelin had made it nearly all of the way to the centerof the city before she felt a presence approaching from behind. People of all species were quietly filing into the streets, as ordered by the image of Predor Kil'las. She leaned against the wall of an apartment building, a broken cart between her and the crowd.

"There you are, J," came a deep, raspy voice. She turned to find Sira'tak standing behind her, the Sub-Predor's arms folded across her chest. "The years have not been kind to you, ForceHound."

"Has it been years, Sira'tak?" Jaelin said, her voice hardly more than a whisper. "I expected you much sooner. Has daddy gotten angry with you?"

"Tora'tak is _always_angry," Sira'tak answered. "That's what makes him a good Rakata." She removed one of her bladeless weapons from her hip and held it to her side. "Would you like to die here on this dirty little world or would you rather wait until my father executes you, after I hand him your children?"

"I'm already dying, so it makes little difference," Jaelin answered. "But I will not let you take Esson and Maryn."

"You don't have a choice," Sira'tak said. She pointed her weapon at the human woman and ignited the blade. "You know what is about to happen, right? The Culling."

"I'm aware," Jaelin said.

"And what do you plan on doing? Stumble your way to the palace, fight off all of Kil'las's warriors, and then…"

"What do _you_plan on doing?" Jaelin countered. "If my children are executed how will you bring your prizes back to daddy?"

"He'll have to settle for a world, I suppose," Sira'tak said with a shrug.

"You're bringing down the Predor?" Jaelin asked.

"Putting him down," Sira'tak corrected. "Just like you."

"It'll be easier with my help."

Sira'tak twirled her energizedsword and caught it in a reverse grip as she considered Jaelin. "Perhaps. If you could provide a distraction."

"Just like old times," Jaelin added with a tired smile.

"Fine," Sira'tak said at last, extinguishing her sword and returning it to her hilt. "But don't think there is any scenario where you escape with your life. You are marked for death, but if you can be an obedient Houndone last time your children may yet live."

"So they live a life of servitude?" Jaelin asked rhetorically. "Helping your kind enslave and murder your way across the galaxy?"

"Would you rather they die?" Sira'tak asked. "I could let you kill them yourself. I daresay I would enjoy the sight of it."

"No," Jaelin said adamantly. "They live. Or else I'll help Kil'las take off your head."

"You have my word," Sira'tak agreed with a vicious smile. "You do what you were going to do. And I'll take advantage of it."

"In other words I do all the work and you take all the credit," Jaelin added with a sigh. "Yes, just like old times."

Sira'tak smiled one last time before turning and disappearing into the crowd. Gritting her teeth, Jaelin pushed herself from the wall and began to make her way through the street.

oOoOo

Outside of the palace a line of prisoners filed into the square under the watchful gaze of a phalanx of Rakata warriors. Esson and Maryn were near the back, both of them attempting to block their faces from the glare of the sun with their chained hands. The warriors guided the line of prisoners onto the stage, which consisted of a tiered stand surrounding a circle. The surface of the stage, made up of interlocking segments with a finish that appeared to be polished gold, gleamed in the bright sunlight. Except for the huge gashes in the floor of the center ring, the stage looked brand new.

The children exchanged worried glances as they were directed to the raised steps that surrounded the ring. Once they and the other prisoners were in place the warriors locked step and stood at attention between perimeter of the stage and the huge crowd beyond.

The Censor, who still stood atop the lowest tier of ziggurat, raised both of his hands into the air. With some influence from the Force he quieted the crowd.

"We are gathered here for a Culling," he shouted, his voice echoing through the mind of every person in the square whether they were close enough to hear him or not. "Behold the power of Predor Kil'las, eternal ruler of Oaka Prime!"

The Censor made a sweeping gesture with his hands and, on que, a loud clanking sound began to interrupt the forced silence that had been pressed upon the crowd. From a side entrance in the palace emerged a line of four mechanical warriors, taller than two Rakata stacked atop each other, and wider than the outstretched wingspan of a Wookiee. The mechanical warriors were hunchbacked and walked in a digitagrade manner; their legs bent backwards relative to those of a human, or a Rakata for that matter. Their arms were so long that their hands would drag on the ground if not held upright, and in each hand they held a huge cleaver the size of most being's torso. Two blaster cannons, currently retracted as they moved towards the stage, rose from each shoulder blade. Every surface of their body was armored with Rakata iron, a black metal that could be polished to a mirror finish. They lacked anything resembling a head, and if they had eyes or any other sensors none were visible.

They moved towards the stage with a gait that combined a mechanical jerkiness and an exacting precision that was designed to engender fear and discomfort. The crowd beheld them in a mixture of awe and fear. It was a common occurrence for Kil'las' guard to go on a killing spree, but a deployment of Destroyer automatons was a rare site; in most situations they were overkill when it came to keeping the populace under heel.

The Destroyers continued to march until they drew even with the back of the stage, when the line split into two. One pair stood to the left of center, and the other to the right. They halted all at once and spun their cleavers before violently plunging them into the ground. After all that they stood as motionless as a statue.

"Are we going to have to fight those?" Esson asked his sister.

"I don't think it's going to be much of a fight," Maryn answered solemnly.

oOoOo

Kal'los' pale blue skin took on a deathly palor beneath the twin lines of red light that illuminated a corridor deep within the palace. Nol'las had been true to his word; his access queries, entered by making contact with touch sensitive panels in the walls and then projecting the correct thought through the Force, had so far successfully granted Sira'tak's disciple passage to the inner sanctum of the ziggurat. There were no guards in the hexagonal shaped corridors, the assumption being that any Rakata who could enter was doing so with the permission of Predor Kil'las. An arrogant oversight, but one that Kal'los was perfectly happy to exploit.

One last security door stood between Kal'los and his goal, a big heavy thing made of the same material as a Rakata warship. But, after placing his hand upon the security pad, it rumbled open just like all of the others. Kal'los stepped forward into a room that was very similar to the corridor that lead into it; twin lines of red light from the ceiling, illuminating a black interior whose walls sloped away at forty five degree angles, just like the shape of a cell in a beehive. Unlike the empty corridor this room was wider and filled with instrument panels. Six Rakata sat in high backed chairs, their eyes closed as they interfaced with the equipment arrayed on a sloping table in front of them. Each Rakata wore a wire thin harness upon their head, crystals glowing and fading in tune with each wearer's breathing.

None of the Rakata within the control room noticed as Kal'los pulled his spear from his back and extended his blade. They didn't notice as the security door rumbled to a close behind him, or when he focused his energies into the spearhead of his weapon. The dark purple energy that crackled around his blade overwhelmed the red light from above as he swung his weapon and beheaded the first controller.

The lights on the console went haywire before the Rakata's head hit the floor, warning tones and alerts signalling an improper disconnection to the systems the controller had been connected to. The other controllers began to squirm as the system began to reroute connections from the dead Rakata to the other stations. Before they could question the sudden increase in workload another controller lost their head with a second swing of Kal'los' spear.

Kal'los had moved to the third Rakata by the time the remaining controllers began removing their harnesses in confusion, their eyes blinking rapidly after having been closed for hours. He killed the third controller just as they began to register his presence as the source of the disturbance.

"What are you…" the fourth began, rising out of his seat just as Kal'los thrust his spear into his heart. The remaining two, weaponless though they were, began summoning the energies of the Force about themselves as they threw aside their chairs.

"Regime change," Kal'los spoke, answering the unfinished question with a nasty smirk on his face. He twirled his spear, flicking blood across the room, and faced his two opponents. One pushed her hands forward, sending a wave of Force energy at the charging warrior, who blew right through the attack, his reinforced aura shielding him. The other Rakata summoned purple lightning around his hands and thrust outwards, sending the energy arcing towards Kal'los.

Kal'los twirled the tip of his spear, intercepting the energy, and then flicked it at the other Rakata, redirecting it into her face. She screamed just before her head exploded. The remaining Rakata seemed to consider surrender just before Kal'los plunged the head of his spear into his chest. He smiled viciously as the color drained from the controller's face, and then retracted his spear, allowing the body to fall to the ground.

Looking about at his handiwork, Kal'los wished very much that he could eat the bodies. But he lacked the time, and such a proud display would have very little effect down here, without an audience to watch him. Instead he retracted his spear and chose the control station with the least amount of dark blue blood pooling around it. Retrieving one of the high backed chairs, he sat and placed the wire harness upon his torpedo shaped head. A flurry of holographic light flashed on and off before the Rakata's face as his eyes closed.

oOoOo

Juro'na watched from the crowd as one of the Destroyers moved into position, its hulking, talon adorned feet leaving enormous scratches in the golden metal beneath it. The first prisoner was positioned at the center of the open ring between the risers, an emaciated Wookiee who nonetheless gave the hulking automaton a defiant roar. Two Rakata warriors released the Wookiee's restraints before retreating to the edge of the ring. They positioned themselves on opposite sides to prevent any possible escape from the Wookiee or any of the other prisoners, although the current victim didn't seem interested in flight.

To most living beings an angry Wookiee roaring and baring its claws would be reason to reconsider one's actions. But if the Destroyer registered the Wookiee as a threat it gave no indication. The Wookiee stepped forward, preparing to leap into battle, a ripple in the air as the Force sensitive creature gathered its power. But, within the blink of an eye the Destroyer struck, swinging downwards with its cleaver and slicing the Wookiee in half, quicker than the furry humanoid could react. One prisoner down. The crowd cheered happily.

The next victim was chosen by the Censor, who communicated with the warriors through the Force. A thin Human man, who was in his old age, was selected and brought into the ring. The man's body quaked, although it was hard to tell if it was from fear or from an age induced tremor. This one, unlike the Wookiee, attempted to flee as soon as his restraints were removed. He made it about two steps before one of the warriors grabbed him with the Force and thrust their spear through his back. Two down.

Juro'na counted the remaining number of prisoners. There were four more, including Esson and Maryn. If he guessed correctly he figured the Censor would leave them for last. A Noghri was chosen next, a humanoid whose skin and forbearance resembled the Rakata, but at less than half the size, and with a face that more resembled a human's.

As the Noghri was brought down to face the Destroyer Juro'na felt a pinprick in the back of his mind. A moment later he felt a familiar presence appear from behind. Sira'tak had arrived at last.

"Mistress," Juro'na whispered, even though they were hundreds of meters from the stage.

"I trust that Kal'los is inside the palace," Sira'tak said, more loudly than Juro'na, but quiet enough that her voice would never carry over the noise of the crowd.

"He is," Juro'na answered. "I am sorry that we lost custody of the children. We intended to use them to get to the mother, your father's Hound."

"There is nothing to apologize for," she said, her eyes fixed on the stage. The Noghri had lasted longer than the Wookiee, but it too was now dead. Another Human, a woman this time, was replacing him. "It was inevitable that Kil'las would interfere. Regardless, the current situation is satisfactory."

"The guide, Nol'las, serves you now?"

"So it seems," Sira'tak answered, although her voice lacked confidence. "Whether Nol'las is a faithful traitor or not is likely immaterial." She swept her gaze across the sea of people that surrounded them. "Are these enough?"

"Plenty," Juro'na answered, his gaze now fixing on the Censor, who seemed completely unaware of the pair of them. "But he has them in his thrall. I can probably rip them away but…"

"But it would immediately alert them to our plan," Sira'tak finished for him. "Do not worry my young apprentice. I believe a distraction is presenting itself."

While they spoke the Human woman had been executed by the Destroyer, and a Gammorrean after that. The pair of Rakata warriors were now making their way towards the boy, Esson.

Juro'na closed his eyes and reached out with the Force. He could feel the energy of the people surrounding him, and by stretching out, the people in the entire square. All of them were locked onto the executions, fixated with single minded attention. He could also feel the influence of the Censor acting upon them. The Rakata officials will was like the web of a spider, extending outwards in invisible strands. And just like the web of a spider it was impossible for the hapless inferiors to extricate themselves from the snare. Someone stronger would have to come along and pluck them out of the web. Or set the web on fire.

Juro'na came out of his examination only to find that Sira'tak had disappeared. He couldn't sense her in the Force, despite their student-master relationship. Despite her strength she was perfectly capable of blending in with the environment. It was a rare talent for a Rakata. The Human girl, Maryn, was protesting her brothers selection. She put up more of a fight than the others, despite her age, using the Force to try and blow the Rakata away from her brother. But another came from behind and struck her behind the knees, sending her crashing to the floor of the stage.

"Maryn," the boy cried out, earning laughter from the crowd.

"If the girl wants to die first, let her," the Censor called amusedly. One of the warriors shrugged and hauled the boy off to the side, while the other dragged the girl over to take his place before the Destroyer. The huge machine rose up, its cleaver held high. But unlike the previous executions the Destroyer hesitated. "Get on with it, machine," the Censor said, waving his hand in a slicing motion.

"Stop!" someone yelled. The feminine voice carried far beyond what was natural. At the forefront of the crowd a Human woman appeared wearing a ragged cloak, her red hair clinging to her sweaty forehead. She stumbled out of the crowd and began to move towards the stage before two guards intercepted her.

"What's this?" the Censor asked condescendingly. Despite how wrapped up the official was in his games even he could sense the love and concern coming from the woman. He could also sense an inkling of her 'gift'. "Another volunteer for the Culling?"

"Release them now and I won't remove your Predor's head from his body," Jaelin threatened. She drew herself upright, gathering the Force about her.

"Kill her now," the Censor ordered. "Let them watch," he added, nodding towards the terrified children held captive at the center of the stage.

The pair of guards drew the power of the dark side to their spears, causing them to energize. They moved methodically towards her from the left and the right and struck in unison, both aiming to impale the woman with their spears.

As if her sickness had vanished Jaelin jumped backwards a half step, causing the spear heads to miss, although the energy wrapped the blades singed her cloak. She reached outwards and grabbed the shaft of each spear and pulled, throwing the surprised warriors off balance. They corrected, but not before Jaelin struck first, swinging the side of her hand, the Force wrapped around it like the head of a hammer, into the shoulder of one of the Rakata. His shoulder blade shattered into a million pieces.

The other Rakata snarled and used the Force to shove his injured fellow out of the way. Now taking the woman seriously the warrior feinted in one direction and stabbed in the other, but the woman dodged the strike. With the Force she summoned the injured warriors spear and twirled it, slicing across the breastplate of the Rakata's armor and drawing a shower of sparks.

The warrior frowned in surprise, which turned to anger. He reached out with one hand and sent a focused blast of energy towards Jaelin, but she countered by shaping her aura into a wedge, splitting the attack.

"Who are you?" the warrior asked in shock.

"I'm a mother," she answered, taking a moment to spit blood onto the ground. "And I want you to release my children."

"They are not _your_children," the Censor called. "All of you belong to Predor Kil'las."

Jaelin regarded the official, and the warrior standing before her. The other handful of warriors that had drawn near had not escaped her notice either. She wished very much that she was as strong as she once was, but even if that were the case she doubted she'd be able to save Esson and Maryn. The Destroyer still held its cleaver above her daughter, waiting for the order to strike.

"Not for much longer," another voice called, this one deeper and more menacing than Jaelin's. Sira'tak emerged from the crowd, which seemed to have snapped out of the Censor's thrall, caught between the desire to flee from the square and the desire to see the struggle before them unfold. Sira'tak held her bladeless hilts outwards and ignited them, pointing one towards the Censor. "I know the old man is watching. Why doesn't he come out here himself and let me kill him where the whole world can see how weak he has become."

"Kill them all!" the Censor screamed, motioning not only to the entire phalanx of warriors but to the Destroyers as well. But to his frustration the huge war machines stood silent. Even the one that held its cleaver over Maryn's tiny body. The girl seemed to sense her reprieve and scuttled out of the way, joining her brother at the side of the ring. The Rakata warriors ignored them for now, instead focusing on the two women who defied their master.

The warrior opposing Jaelin struck first, with a thrust meant to impale her in the throat. She batted the strike away with her own spear and followed with a twirl, striking the warrior in the side of the head with bottom of the shaft. He responded with a slicing cut that she ducked under with unnatural speed, after which she once again sliced him across the chest, once again causing a shower of sparks to erupt from his breastplate.

On the other side of the square three warriors charged Sira'tak with energized spear tips. She thrust outwards with both hands, catching two of them with a blast of Force energy that ripped through their auras as if they had none at all. They were lifted off their feet and thrown through the air, but rather than propel them hundreds of meters through the air she brought them back down even faster, converging into the third warrior and turning all three of them into a crumpled mass of broken limbs and twisted bodies.

Jaelin took ragged breaths, blood dripping from her nose. The warrior she faced had not touched her, and yet she felt like she was losing. Sira'tak's overwhelming display of power on the other side of the square had given pause to all of the other warriors. She faced only the one before her. Although her duel seemed insurmountable she could sense that her children were safe, for the moment. Something seemed to have frozen the Destroyers.

"Do you...want to surrender?" she asked the Rakata between heavy gasps for air.

"To you, an inferior?" he replied. "Never." In the next instant the warrior struck, feinting an attack, parrying her counter, and then making a counterattack of his own. She deflected it before summoning her last bit of energy. The warrior swung his spear at her shoulder, broke off the strike just as she moved to parry it, and then hit her with the back end, mirroring her opening against the first warrior. But unlike the Rakata she was prepared. The blade stopped centimeters from her arm, as if meeting an impenetrable force.

The warrior responded with an overhead slice, aiming to split her forehead, but she caught it with the shaft of her spear. With an effort that caused her face to redden and the veins to pop outward in her neck she threw aside his blade.

"Your strong, I'll give you that," the warrior stated arrogantly. "But nothing compared to…"

The Rakata broke off as the crowd suddenly surged around him. As if gripped by a mania, thousands of people stormed the stage, overwhelming the warriors even as they used the Force to blast dozens of them into the air. Esson and Maryn climbed the tiered risers to one side of the ring, but the people stormed right past them. They ignored the Destroyers and charged the palace, like a flood of fury.

The stampeding crowd somehow flowed past Sira'tak, Jaelin, and the warrior who stood in their way. They stormed up the steps, overwhelming the Rakata who could not kill them quickly enough. The Censor had disappeared already, leaving the guard to their fate. When most of the crowd had passed, Sira'tak approached Jaelin and the warrior, a smirk on her face.

"It seems Juro'na has left this one for you," Sira'tak stated. "Unless you'd like me…"

The warrior glanced over at the Sub-Predor, and seemed about to say something, when Jaelin struck, catching the Rakata in the neck with her spear. The warrior stumbled about, dark blue blood erupting in torrents, and then collapsed.

Jaelin spun her spear and then thumped the end of the shaft to the ground, leaning on it for support. She spat blood onto the ground, nearly catching Sira'tak's feet. "I don't need your help."

"You are clearly beyond help," Sira'tak said, a bit of solemnity creeping into her voice. "Whatever you have...it's not contagious is it? I seem to remember your homeworld was almost completely wiped out in a plague."

"I've kept it from being contagious," Jaelin said, her voice hardly more than a raspy whisper. "If I hadn't it would have spread to...everyone."

"You've kept a virus in check through sheer force of will," Sira'tak said in amazement. "Impressive. But your power is nearly spent."

Two sets of small feet approached, that of Esson and Maryn. They neared their mother but stopped suddenly, held back by an invisible power. "Stop," Sira'tak commanded. "I don't want you to get infected."

"Mom?" Maryn asked.

"Listen to her," Jaelin pleaded. "It's time for me to go."

"What do you mean?" Esson asked.

"She's dying," Sira'tak chimed in.

"She doesn't have to die if she doesn't want to," Maryn said, tears streaming down her face. "Mom is stronger than anyone."

"It doesn't work like that, little one," Jaelin said. "I could hold on a little longer, but I would be putting you both a risk. As well as a lot of other people."

"They could help if they wanted to," Esson said, glancing angrily at Sira'tak.

"The healing arts are not our specialty," Sira'tak answered back.

"The Rakata can only destroy," Jaelin said. "That is their only path. You'll have to find your own path, someday. Until then...you have to promise me you'll look out for each other."

"I promise," they both said at once.

"Very touching," Sira'tak commented sarcastically. "Now, the pair of you can watch her die or you can go hide next to that Destroyer," she offered, nodding towards the automaton that still stood motionless at the center of the stage.

"Go," Jaelin ordered.

"Mom," Maryn pleaded.

"Go," Jaelin repeated. They reluctantly shuffled away, sobbing as they went.

"You're stronger than I ever gave you credit for," Sira'tak added, placing her hands atop the handles of her weapons, which rested once again at her hips.

"That's something I thought I'd never hear," Jaelin said, the closest thing she could manage to a laugh escaping her.

"Well, you're about to die, so…I'll give you your due. There will be one promise I'll never be able to keep, however."

"What's that?"

"That I would corpse when you died."

"...Rakata are disgusting."

"Please," Sira'tak said, gesturing around at the bloody chaos surrounding them.

"Your people's doing."  
**"**Nothing that all of you weren't doing to each other, on your own little worlds, long before we ever came around." Sira'tak raised one of her hands. "Are you ready?"

"One last secret," Jaelin said, falling to her knees and letting the spear drop to the ground. "I was infected the whole time. I kind of wish you had eaten me."

Sira'tak snarled and then snapped her fingers. The air surrounding Jaelin contracted violently, igniting into flames that enveloped the woman. But she did not scream. She simply burned. A moment later there was nothing left but ashes.

"Goodbye J," Sira'tak said quietly. A moment later the Rakata stepped over the ashes, sending them fluttering in the wind.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

Nol'las entered the throne room just as the first prisoner was being placed in front of the Destroyer. The view of the square was being provided by a large holographic projector in the middle of the room, which was rendering the scene in true color and three dimensions. Predor Kil'las sat upon his throne, one clawed hand absentmindedly digging into the armrest. Two dozen Rakata filled the room, a mixture of attendants and guards, all of them arrayed around the holographic imagery that filled the darkened throne room with light. None of them noticed Nol'las quietly slide into the throne room from the side, including the Predor.

Nol'las very much wanted to wait out the impending confrontation between the Predor and Sira'tak in some hidden corner of the palace where he could escape notice. Even better would be stealing a transport and leaving Oaka Prime behind. But he wouldn't put it past Sira'tak, if she was victorious, to hunt him down no matter how far he fled. Kil'las would likely do the same. So it was time to place a bet on one side or the other.

Nol'las moved along the outskirts of the gathering until only the royal guard stood between him and the Predor. It was only when he approached the throne and bowed did the elder Rakata notice him.

"Where have you been?" Kil'las growled. "My Censor reported that your airship crashed. Is Sira'tak dead?"

"No, my lord," Nol'las answered. "I don't believe so. But she disappeared when we went down."

"What happened to your fighter escort? Or the guards assigned to you?"

"She destroyed the fighters and killed the guards." Everyone in the throne room who was still pretending to be focused on the Culling now turned toward the throne in interest.

"Why are _you _still alive?" Kil'las asked, pointing a finger at him as he rose from his throne. Nol'las could feel the power of the dark side gathering about the Predor.

"She kept me alive so that I would pilot the vessel for her," he explained. "I believed she would kill me as soon as we arrived, so I sabotaged the ship and intentionally crashed it, hoping she would die."

"You_hoped_? You are weak," Kil'las shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth. He turned from Nol'las and swept his gaze across every warrior in the throne room. "Search the city for Legad Tora'tak's spawn. I want every available warrior out in the streets. The one that brings me her head will become my new Primus."

"I don't think that will be necessary," one of the attendants said slowly, nodding towards the holographic projection. Jaelin and Sira'tak had appeared out of the crowd and the Culling was unravelling.

Kil'las watched as the Censor ordered the Destroyers and the phalanx of Rakata to attack. While the living warriors promptly went into action the enormous battle machines stayed motionless. "What is going on?" Kil'las asked angrily, waving a hand towards a device near his throne. But nothing happened. "Where are the controllers?"

"There's been a breach," an attendant shouted in alarm.

"You should send the guard down to…" Nol'las began to suggest before the Predor cut him off with an angry glare.

"I'll do it myself," the Predor growled. He stretched out a hand and his spear flew into his hand from a receptacle next to the throne. Kil'las's weapon was similar in appearance to those carried by the warriors but made of black Rakata iron and inlaid with green crystal that glowed with an inner light that, for an instant, flashed brightly as Kil'las caught it. "Seal off the palace," he ordered the nearest warrior. "As soon as I regain the control room I will order the fleet to bombard the city from orbit. It is time to burn them all."

"As you wish, Predor," the warrior said, bowing.

"You will follow me and man the controls," the Predor ordered Nol'las. "After I wipe out Sira'tak's pup."

"As you wish," Nol'las said, following the Predor as he walked directly through the holographic projection and towards the nearest lift. While the Predor silently fumed Nol'las closed his eyes and focused on a simple message, conveyed through the newly established connection between himself and Sira'tak's disciple that had formed when he has passed Kal'los the access queries. _The Predor is coming._

oOoOo

Sira'tak gracefully stepped over the countless bodies filling the square as she made her way towards the stage. A heavy silence filled the air, despite the chaos that had filled the place not moments ago. She found the children exactly where they had been told to stay, next to the motionless Destroyer automaton, whose black armor gleamed in the afternoon sunlight.

"It seems you are able to obey orders," Sira'tak said. She dropped into a crouch until she was at eye level with each of the small humans.

"It's not like we'd get away," Maryn said. Tears had been streaming down the girl's face, turning the dust that covered her skin into mud.

"And wise too," Sira'tak added with a smile. She pointed towards the sky with one of her three fingered hands. "Did either of you know that Predor Kil'las has a fleet of starships up there?"

"Yes," the boy answered. Esson's face was much the same as his sister's, tear streaked and muddy. "Mom told us about them. Never seen them though."

"Well, the Predor has approximately fifty battleships at his command," Sira'tak said. "They are armed with multiple cannon batteries. There are hundreds of fleets like that throughout the Infinite Empire, and each one can lay waste to civilizations. Do you want to know why Kil'las's fleet hasn't rained fire down on our heads yet?" Esson looked about the square as if clues might be hiding in plain sight, while Maryn waited patiently for Sira'tak to provide the answer.

"This is his city," Esson answered. "If he used his cannons he'd burn it down."

"Indeed," Sira'tak nodded. "He would view it as a reasonable price to pay as long as I burned too. And yet…" she gestured towards the sky with both hands.

"You did something to his spaceships?" Maryn asked.

"More specifically to his ability to communicate with his spaceships. Remember that you do not always have to destroy an enemy force in order to defeat them," Sira'tak added.

"Why are you telling us this stuff?" Maryn asked.

"Because your mother is dead," Sira'tak answered harshly. "And you belong to me now."

"Starting their training already?" came Juro'na's voice in the distance. The Rakata was carefully stepping over bodies as he made his way towards them, just as Sira'tak had done moments earlier.

"I was younger than they are now when my father started my training," Sira'tak answered. "The people that you had in thrall?"

"Largely spent," he answered with a grimace. He glanced over towards the palace. Just like the square, the steps of the tiered ziggurat were covered with the bodies of the fallen. "But they did their job. All of the guards on the outside of the palace are dead."

"Then we should make our way inside," Sira'tak said. She stood and motioned for the children to follow. With a nervous glance at each other they reluctantly obeyed.

oOoOo

Nol'las looked on nervously as the Predor neared the heavy door that separated the control room from the corridor that led up to it. The twin lines of red light in the ceiling illuminated Kil'las from above, giving him the countenance of a demon, such that were feared by the primitives on so many of the worlds that the Rakata had conquered.

Kil'las place a hand upon the security pad on the wall. For a moment it seemed that the door would resist him, but a surge of energy from his hand prompted action. Heavy latches loudly unlocked within the door with a scraping and grinding that revealed the mechanism had been tampered with, in a vain attempt at preventing access to the Predor.

The heavy door slid open, revealing the control room. Arcing light flashed from gashes in the control consoles, revealing Kal'los, who stood defiantly in the center of the room, the blood of the controllers pooling around his feet.

"Greetings Predor," Kal'los spoke. He held both his spear and one retrieved from a controller at his side. "It seems that your systems are experiencing a technical difficulty," he added with a smirk. "I think it will be sometime before you can contact your fleet, or summon your Destroyers."

"You will die for this," Kil'las snarled, thrusting his empty hand towards Sira'tak's apprentice. A blast of Force energy rippled outwards, displacing the air as it burst towards Kal'los. In an instant the younger Rakata raised both of his spears and crossed them in front of his body, a physical barrier that guided and channeled the Force. The Predor's attack struck Kal'los's shield with an explosion and that rocked the control room. Kal'los was thrown backwards into the wall.

Yet the Rakata landed on his feet, a pained grimace the only sign of the impact's effect. But the Predor did not give him time to recover. Immediately following the blast Kil'las rushed forwards, thrusting with his spear, the blade writhing with green energy. Kal'los deflected the thrust with one of his spears at the last possible second, sending the tip of the Predor's weapon into the wall rather than through his body. Kal'los counter with a knee to the Predor's ribs, but if the blow had any effect Kil'las did not show it.

With an angry snarl, the Predor motioned with his hand, and a wave of Force energy struck Kal'los from the side, sending him flying through the air and crashing into one of the broken control consoles. Kal'los lost his grip on the controller's spear but kept hold of his own. He managed to get to his feet and charge at the Predor, who was busy pulling his spear out of the black stone wall.

Kil'las parried the thrust and the two held the shafts of their weapons together, neither willing to budge. And although Kal'los will held against the Predor, the shaft of his weapon fared less well against that of his opponent's. The green light emanating from Kil'las's weapon surged to matched his fury. Kal'los weapon began to bend under the pressure and then, all at once, it shattered. The young Rakata's feet went out from under him as the Predor drove his blade into Kal'los's shoulder.

"You are nothing," the Predor spoke, reaching down with one hand and gripping Kal'los around the neck. He lifted the younger Rakata off of his feet and held him aloft, their face's inches apart. The Predor began to squeeze but felt a sharp pain in his ribs. With a free hand Kal'los had thrust the bladed half of his broken spear into the elder Rakata's body. And yet if the surprise attack had done anything other than annoy the Predor Kal'los could not see it. Kil'las squeezed, crushing Kal'los's neck and instantly killing him. He continued to squeeze until the Rakata's head separated from his body, which fell with a lifeless thump at his feet.

"Well fought my lord," Nol'las congratulated, having watched the battle from the safety of the corridor. But now that the victor had emerged he stepped forward. "May I assist you?" he asked, nodding towards the spearhead that still sat lodged between Kil'las's ribs.

The Predor, who nearly seemed to have forgotten that Nol'las was there, glanced down at his wound. "It is no matter." The blade wiggled and removed itself from the Predor's body. Kil'las held it aloft with the Force, curiously entranced by the sight of his own blood.

"It seems the controller's stations have been destroyed," Nol'las pointed out. "Would you like me to take a ship and go to orbit, contact your Praefect directly?"

"No," the Predor responded, releasing his invisible grip on the spearhead and letting it drop to the floor. "I want you to descend to the armory and take direct command of the Destroyers. Instruct them to obliterate the city. Record the massacre with the remotes. After I remove Sira'tak's head I would like to watch as blood fills the streets."

"As you wish Predor," Nol'las said with a bow. Kil'las shuffled past his distant nephew, a faraway look in his eyes as he moved down the corridor, Kal'los's head held in one hand.

oOoOo

Sira'tak stood atop the last tier of steps on the outside of the black ziggurat. Esson and Maryn stood below her, and Juro'na behind them. The armored doors of the palace, much like those that guarded the control room but larger and encased in black stone, were resolutely shut in their faces.

"How much did your mother teach you about the Force?" Sira'tak asked.

"A lot," Maryn answered. "She said its energy."

"Energy that we can use if we get in trouble," Esson added.

"Can you use it?" Sira'tak asked, looking from one child to the other.

"I assure you they can," Juro'na chimed in. "Although their control is wild, at best."

"As is to be expected of children," Sira'tak acknowledged. "The Force is indeed energy. And if you exert your will upon it the Force will obey your commands. You need not be in distress to summon its power. Observe."

Sira'tak positioned herself in front of the door. Closing her eyes, she held her hands aloft. The air began to ripple around her, purple energy coalescing about her fingertips. She began a series of tearing motions with each hand, as if she were pulling the fabric of reality itself. The door began buckling slightly outwards, but held, for now. She suddenly reversed the motion of her hands, pushing instead of pulling, and the door buckled the other way. Cracks began to form in the stone around the Rakata iron frame that held the door in place. Sira'tak reversed her motion once more, gathering the Force into a ball of invisible energy that seemed to consume the air itself, as if a black hole had popped into existence. She thrust outwards and shoved the ball of energy into the door.

Rather than striking the door the ball seemed to pass into it, into the very molecules of the metal. The entire door broke free of its moorings, twisting as it fell backwards into the palace, tearing huge gashes in the walls before finally coming to a rest.

Sira'tak opened her eyes and lowered hands. "When the Force is at your command there is no door you can not open," she said.

Juro'na stepped past the astonished faces of the children and leaned into the now open passageway. He smirked when he spotted the twisted bodies of several warriors, who seemed to have been standing on the other side of the door when Sira'tak had sent it crashing down upon them. "I think the palace will have noticed our entrance," he pointed out.

"Let's not keep the Predor waiting then," Sira'tak said. She motioned towards the corridor and added a gentle nudge from the Force, pushing Esson and Maryn up the last step. The group entered the corridor after carefully stepping over the ruins of the door frame. Esson's face turned white as he passed the bodies, while Maryn did her best to keep her eyes focused on the path ahead of them. The passage was eerily quiet, with no defenders standing between Sira'tak and the lifts.

Sira'tak and Juro'na both paused at the threshold, staring up through the ceiling, their eyes unfocused.  
**"**I sense a trap," Juro'na spoke. "Shall we find another way?"

"That will take too much time," Sira'tak said, removing the hilts of her energy blades from her hip. A moment later the blades ignited, overwhelming the red light in the corridor with that from the crackling purple energy. "Wait a few moments and then take the other lift," she added, nodding towards the other side of the corridor.

"As you wish," Juro'na said. "Humans, after you," he gestured, herding the slightly shell shocked siblings to the other side of the hall. Sira'tak, her eyes upwards, stepped onto the first lift, but rather than patiently waiting for it to ascend she dropped into a crouch, gathering her energy.

At the top of the shaft Kil'las's Censor stood behind a dozen warriors, each holding their energized spears at the ready, staring at the lift and preparing for their enemy to arrive. Despite their readiness they were caught unawares when a sudden gush of air rushed over them, accompanied by a leaping Sira'tak. She flew over their heads and landed next to the Censor, who collapsed onto the floor in front of her.

She smirked at the terrified expression on his face and then rolled out of the way, avoiding a couple of energized spearheads that thrust out at her. Her blades spun in a flurry, deflecting every attack that came her way. She moved with the efficient grace of a dancer, her counterattacks flowing from her parries, using her opponent's momentum against them. Within seconds three of the warriors fell in a heap, various limbs separated from their bodies.

Sira'tak walked backwards into the throne room, the remaining warriors following at a distance. Two of them attacked in unison from the left and the right. She batted one spear away and ducked under the other. When she rose she separated the Rakata's head from his body and then spun around him, keeping the falling corpse between her and the other warrior. Another warrior attempted to stab her from behind, but she stepped aside at the last second. The edge of the energized blade cut her hip but she deftly stabbed outwards, placing her blade into his heart.

The seven remaining warriors seemed increasingly unsure of themselves. They crept forward a step, but Sira'tak stepped back as well, maintaining a few meters of distance. It was then that she noted that the attendants and officials that had been watching the Culling through the holoprojector were still in the room, a bloodlust filled audience that somehow believed themselves separate from the melee. Suddenly remembering her trick out in the fields, Sira'tak deactivated her blades.

"Kill the fool now," the Censor shouted, his voice cracking. The warriors jumped forward, spears outstretched, but the bodies of three screaming attendants came hurtling towards them. Two warriors impaled the living missiles with their spears, while a third used the Force to stop the other. The remaining warriors were so startled they seemed frozen mid attack.

Sira'tak didn't wait for them to regain their senses. She stabbed two warriors in the heart and decapitated a third before they knew what was happening. Three of the four remaining warriors suddenly dropped their spears and feel to a knee, bowing their heads in surrender. The last thrust outwards with his spear, attempting to impale Sira'tak through the torso. She stepped to one side, clearing the crackling spearhead by centimeters, and then thrust outwards with the Force. The warrior was propelled across the room, his body smacking into the wall at high velocity and impacting with a sickening splat.  
Sira'tak glanced around the room. The remaining attendants copied the surviving warriors, falling to their knees before her. The Censor had scrambled to the far end of the throne room, standing between her and Kil'las's empty throne.

"Traitors," he spat angrily.

Sira'tak deactivated her blades and slowly approached the throne. "Where is your Master?"

"Mistress…" came Juro'na's voice, the other lift having finally reached the throne room. If her apprentice seemed surprised at how quickly she had wrought carnage upon their would-be ambushers he didn't show it. "I can sense him approaching from below."

"Guard the children," Sira'tak ordered, her raspy voice thick with anticipation.

"Never mind the bodies," Juro'na said, shepherding the siblings across the throne room until they reached the raised dias.

The Censor sprung forward, his three fingered claws grasping for Esson, but his entire body was lifted backwards into the air. He fell in a heap at Sira'tak's feet, and Maryn lowered her hand.

"Well done child," Sira'tak said with a vicious smile, before dropping her gaze to the out of breath Rakata at her feet. "You really are pathetic. Did Kil'las intentionally choose weaklings to serve him or is it an accident?"

"The Predor has trained generations of Rakata…" the Censor began. "Predors on dozens of worlds. They will hunt you down…"

"Let them try," Sira'tak answered. She didn't bother to pick him up by hand. Instead she simply reached out with her mind, tearing through his defensive aura, and gripped his heart in the Force. An instant later the Censor was dead.

A few of the attendants moved towards the lifts, and a couple others towards the stairs at the far end of the room. "Stay where you are," Sira'tak shouted. "I require an audience. Warriors, if anyone tries to leave kill them at once."

"As you wish Sub-Predor," one of the warriors answered, rising to his feet, spear in hand. The others, after a moment of hesitation, followed suit. All were silent as Sira'tak waited, but she didn't have to wait long.

Kil'las appeared from across the throne room, the red light from the corridors casting a long shadow as he ascended the stairs. His eyes narrowed as he took in the scene before him.

He approached slowly, Kal'los's head dripping blood behind him in a trail. "You've killed my servants," Kil'las spoke, his voice a low rumble. "So I've killed one of yours." He tossed the head across the room, dropping it at Sira'tak's feet.

"He was young," Sira'tak said, brushing the head aside with one of her feet. She noticed the wound in Kil'las's side as the Predor grew closer. "But it looks like he fought well."

"You'll die just as quickly as he did," Kil'las growled. He ignited his spear and twirled it with an agility so at odds with his wrinkled visage. "Before I send your head to your father, I'd like to know why you didn't challenge me from the first."

"I had no plans to challenge you, you old fool. You forced my hand out of sheer inconvenience."

"You think I'm supposed to believe such lies?" he shouted, spittle flying out of his mouth.

"I don't care what you believe," Sira'tak answered calmly. She ignited her weapons and held them at the ready.

"Die," Kil'las shouted. His eyes burst with crackling energy, which seemed to flow out of his body and into the tip of his black spear. With a thrust the energy shot like lightning towards Sira'tak.

Rather than stepping out of the way or intercepting the blast with her own energy she dropped to knees, her forehead nearly touching the floor. The energy passed overhead and struck the throne, which exploded in a shower of sparks and molten gold. Juro'na, standing on the dias not too far from the throne, threw up a shield of Force energy, protecting the children from the debris.

"Oops," Sira'tak said mockingly as she slowly rose upwards. In response Kil'las leapt forward, faster than his warrior ever did, and faster even than Sira'tak seemed to expect. She got her guard up at the last second, intercepting the tip of his spear with both of her weapons.

Their faces inches apart, Kil'las pressed down with all of his strength. The obsidian floor cracked under Sira'tak's feet, the reinforced structure of the palace giving way long before she would. Just as the edge of his energized blade neared her neck Sira'tak shifted her weight, kicking outwards and striking Kil'las in the knee.

Sira'tak swept one of her blades across his chest as the Predor lost his balance and fell. But she had no time to do further damage, a retaliatory swipe forcing her backwards. Her eyes narrowed as Kil'las regained his footing. If the deep gash in his chest pained him in any way he didn't show it.

The Predor moved with alarming speed, circling Sira'tak like a predator about to pounce. She pivoted on her back foot, keeping him in front of her. He struck in the blink of an eye, but she deflected just as quickly. He tried an energy blast next, but she deflected it with her aura. The wave struck the ceiling behind her, sending debris down amongst the attendants and warriors, who scrambled out of the way.

Sira'tak stepped forward and raised one of her blades, preparing for a downward swipe, but broke away at the last. Kil'las parried a blade that wasn't there and overextended himself. Sira'tak's other blade came from the other direction, grazing his forearm just enough to draw a thin sliver of blood.

"Your powers are weak, old man," Sira'tak remarked, her eyes glinting.

"They are still enough to end you," Kil'las spat. He leapt forward again, abandoning any sense of grace as he launched into a rapid series of swiping strikes. Sira'tak attempted to deflect a blow meant to behead her, but the spear struck her blade with such force that it knocked it from her hand. She let it go without surprise, instead simply adapting to the situation by grabbing her other weapon with both hands and deflecting the next blow with a stronger grip.

This time Kil'las was knocked backwards, some of the crystals in his spear exploding in bursts of green energy as his weapon seemed to give out. The Predor regarded his weapon as it began to melt in his grip, the black metal liquifying as the shaft fell apart. Growling in anger he cast the ruined spear aside.

Sira'tak twirled her blade, the bright energy lighting up the Predor's face. "Old fashioned weapons are no match against these."

"I don't need a weapon," Kil'las answered. "I am a weapon." He thrust outwards with his hand, launching a burst of purple lightning towards Sira'tak. Taking the Predor by surprise she dropped her sword and caught the lighting in her own outstretched hand, passed it through her body, and sent it back at him, with her own power added to it.

The returning energy caught the Predor in his shoulder, which exploded in a shower of blood. He fell backwards, crying out in pain for the first time.

Sira'tak stepped towards him, summoning both of her blades back to her with the Force. "You were saying?" she added as she loomed over him.

Before she could finish him off the sound of heavy metallic footsteps ascending the stairs reverberated across the throne room. The huge form of a Destroyer came into sight, its huge metallic cleavers swinging into attack position.

"Kill her," Kil'las spat, blood oozing from his mouth.

The Destroyer took a couple steps nearer and then paused. The warriors and attendants looked on in nervous anticipation.

"Do as I command," Kil'las shouted. "I am the Predor of this world. I am eternal."

Sira'tak turned towards the enormous machine. "Nol'las. Do you have control over the entire contingent?"

In response the Destroyer struck downwards with both weapons, thrusting them into the floor with a terrible crash. It then seemed to approximate a bow.

"Very good," Sira'tak said. She turned from the Destroyer and gazed down at Kil'las. "It's over."

"Betrayal…" Kil'las whispered under his breath. "Betrayal."

"A recognition of true power is not betrayal. This is the Rakata way," she added, with a glance towards Esson and Maryn, who stood still as statues, their eyes wide and faces pale.

Sira'tak bent a knee, calmly inserting one of her blades into the center of Kil'las's chest. His eyes widened for a moment, and then went slack. But before he died she dropped her other blade beside his body, grabbed his head, and ripped it from his body.

"I am the Predor now!" she shouted, holding Kil'las's head high above her for all to see.

"Long live the Predor," Juro'na shouted from the dias.

"Long live the Predor," the other Rakata shouted.

Sira'tak dropped Kil'las head, extinguished her other blade, and then knelt down over the body. Esson audibly gasped as she began to feed on the old Rakata's corpse, while Maryn staggered backwards and threw up.

Every Rakata in the room looked on, their faces overwrought with manic glee.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

One Week Later

Esson sat upon a light gray mat, which was, other than the small beds in their quarters, the only bit of fabric on Sira'tak's spaceship he had noticed so far. The spartan chambers and corridors on the ship were almost entirely made of metal, and were usually varying shades of black or very dark gray. The only color was from the red lines of light in the ceiling or the occasional flash of color from a control console. The exception was the blue glow coming from outside the rectangular window behind. The Rakata called that glow hyperspace. He still wasn't exactly sure what that meant.

His sister sat in front of him, on a mat just like his own. Her eyes were closed and her legs crossed. A metallic ball hovered in mid air in front of her. An identical ball sat on the floor in front of him.

He felt the rushing change in air pressure that accompanied an opening door and promptly closed his eyes. Just before Juro'na entered the room Esson's ball rose into the air, joining his sister.

"You can't fool me, I can tell that you're unfocused," the Rakata admonished, but without much enthusiasm. Teaching the children basic Force drills had been his task ever since the overthrow of Kil'las, and he couldn't wait to hand them over to someone else at the earliest possibility.

"I'm done with this exercise, can we do something else," Esson whined.

"When Sira'tak is putting you through combat drills you will remember these simpler times with fondness," Juro'na said with a slightly sadistic smile.

"Just float the stupid ball," Maryn said, her own ball wavering as she spoke.

"I am floating it, if you didn't notice," Esson shot back.

"Now now, don't fight," Juro'na said absently. "There will be plenty of time for that later…"

The siblings glanced at each other and the up at Juro'na. They silently agreed to bury the simmering resentment they felt, not for each other but for the whole situation. Burying their feelings had been the only way to get through each day since their mother has gone…

"Where are we going again?" Esson asked.

"To Korriban," Juro'na answered simply.

"Why?" Maryn asked.

"Predor Sira'tak is going to see the Legad."

"The who?" Esson asked.

"Legad Tora'tak. Her father. Legad is a title. A commander of fleets and armies."

"Sira'tak has a father?" Esson asked.

"Everyone has a father," Maryn pointed out.

"We don't have a father," Esson shot back.

"We don't know our father, that's a different thing," she said, rolling her eyes.

"What about a mother?" Esson asked.

Juro'na hesitated a moment before answering. "I'm sorry, was that prattling meant for me? Yes, Sira'tak had a mother. But she died in childbirth. A not uncommon occurrence…"

"Why?" Maryn asked.

"Why?" Juro'na repeated, slightly taken aback. "Well, when you're steeped in the dark side of the Force giving birth to new life becomes...complicated."

"Dark side of the Force?" Esson asked. "I didn't know there were sides. I thought it was just energy."

"It's complicated," Juro'na said with a sigh. "And that is enough questions."

"If we are seeing a Legad...is that why Sira'tak is nervous?" Esson asked.

"I thought I said enough...how do you know she is nervous?" Juro'na suddenly asked.

"I can sense it," Esson said, as if stating the obvious.

"I don't sense anything," Maryn complained. She sent her ball into orbit around her head and picked up another with the Force from the bin against the wall."

"Show off," Esson muttered as he saw her new trick.

"The Predor is not nervous," Juro'na said. Still, the Legad is a very important Rakata…"

"More important than Sira'tak?" Esson asked.

"...yes, more important than…"

"More important means more powerful," Maryn stated.

"Not necessarily," Juro'na said with a sigh new wrinkles forming on his domed forehead.

"But if he wasn't more powerful wouldn't she beat him like she did the old Predor?" Maryn asked.

"It's her dad," Esson pointed out. "She wouldn't want to overthrow him."

Maryn glared up at Juro'na. "I don't think they think like that."

"That's enough," Juro'na suddenly shouted. "No more questions. Finish your training session and then get to bed. We are about to exit hyperspace."

The siblings glanced at each other and then closed their eyes. Whether they were being obedient or pretending like he didn't exist Juro'na didn't care.

"I hate children," he muttered to himself before exiting the training room.

oOoOo

Sira'tak sat on the bridge of her starship, a battleship that was basically identical to every other that had been produced by the StarForge in the last two thousand years. The bulk of the ship was a spherical center section with two 'wings' on each side that narrowed into the point nearly like a dagger at the prow.

The bridge was a crescent shaped room with tiered control stations. The pilots sat in the first row, followed by navigation and weapons system controllers in the second tier. Each controller wore a harness upon their conical heads, just as the controllers had within Kil'las's palace. The interfaced with the ship through the Force, with no buttons or screens on the control panels in front of them.

But there were visual aids on the ship, if one wanted them. Sira'tak waved her hand over one of the panels in front of her and the image of a world appeared in holographic form before her. 'Korriban' said small text above it. A series of symbols in rapid reduction, a countdown, indicated their impending arrival.

She rose from her seat and, as if on cue, a door opened at the back of the bridge. Nol'las emerged, wearing the ceremonial breastplate of a Censor.

"We're about to arrive…"

"Yes, I'm aware," Sira'tak cut him off.

"Do you think its wise to take this detour?" Nol'las asked. "I'm not convinced the Praefect of your fleet won't try to install himself as Predor in your absence. If we travelled straight to Lehon we could return with more ships…"

"He has no right to the title," Sira'tak spat. "I defeated Kil'las in front of his entire court."

"That is true," Nol'las agreed hesitantly. "But it won't stop another Predor from claiming your territory if you don't receive recognition from the Over-Predor in a timely fashion."

"Then I'll remove their heads too," Sira'tak responded. The pair exited the bridge and began to move through the innards of the ship, which were uniformly dark and metallic.

"I have no doubt that you would," Nol'las agreed as they stepped onto a lift.

"Don't flatter me Nol'las," Sira'tak said. "I don't need a sycophant."

"My apologies," Nol'las said with a slight bow of the head. "I only have Kil'las's Censor as an example of how to do this job."

"Did Kil'las not train you at all?"

"Like I told you not all that long ago, I believe he was hardly aware of my existence."

"The senile old fool deserved to be put down," Sira'tak said as the lift stopped on the hangar level. A transport and two fighter craft were waiting on her. Outside the invisible barrier that held the air within the hangar the blue glow of hyperspace faded, replaced quickly by the black of space.

"When I return be ready to depart for Lehon," Sira'tak commanded.

"As you wish, Predor."

oOoOo

The _Vindicta_, Tora'tak's flagship, was a relic from a bygone era, a dreadnought built before the Star Forge. Although it was the same general shape as Sira'tak's ship it was an order of magnitude larger, with banks of weapons meant for ship-to-ship combat mounted on the tops and bottoms of the broad wings, which shone with an inner green light. Since it had been generations since the Rakata had faced a threat that possessed warships such designs had been phased out. The Starforge now constructed ships that could transport large numbers of troops and conduct orbital bombardments. As her transport quietly glided towards the gargantuan vessel one such bombardment was currently taking place. Hundreds of smaller warships glinted in the distance as the fleet over Korriban unleashed a punishing rain of fire down upon the Sith.

Her transport entered a hangar along the midline of the _Vindicta _that was in the midst of preparing for deployment. Dozens of Destroyers stood in parallel lines behind transports identical to her own, slowly boarding them one at a time. The boarding ramp of her own ship lowered as it settled onto the floor of the hangar and Sira'tak emerged without fanfare or greeting by any of the crew. The handful of warriors in the area kept their attention on the Destroyers, but she could sense their focus was a pretense. The daughter of the Legad did not step foot on his ship without anyone noticing.

The halls of the _Vindicta_were larger than that of her own, big enough to allow two lines of troops to pass each other at once. Sira'tak moved through the ship until she reached a reinforced vaulted door, of much heavier construction than the one she had ruined back on Oaka Prime. Two guards, wearing heavy metallic combat gear rather than the light armor that Kil'las's soldiers wore, stood on each side of the door.

"I'm here to see the Legad," Sira'tak announced. The guards remained motionless, yet the door itself seemed to acknowledge her. Several tons of Rakata iron ground open, allowing her to step through the threshold and into a throne room so expansive it made the one in Kil'las's palace seem like a closet in comparison. A walkway, splitting a chasm that was hundreds of meters deep, bridged the gap between the entrance and a raised dais. Enormous hexagonal windows, each the size of a small starship all on their own, provided a commanding view of the planet below.

Her father did not sit upon his throne, a black angular thing made of stone. Rather he stood beside it, looking down on the night side of Korriban. Mottled orange and yellow light flickered below, lighting up lines of wispy clouds. It was the light of dozens of cities burning in the night.

She moved swiftly across the precipice and before dropping to a knee. She did not speak until, when he was ready, Tora'tak turned from the viewport and gazed down at his daughter.

"Legad," she greeted.

"Prima Liktor," Tora'tak answered with an old title she had grown beyond long ago, his demeanor cold.

Sira'tak remained kneeling but her eyes shot up angrily. "I am far beyond being nothing more than your faithful little enforcer, father. I am the Predor of Oaka Prime."

"The unrecognized Predor," he pointed out.

"I defeated Kil'las in combat and consumed his body."

"You defeated a broken old Rakata who was Predor of a backwater."

"A backwater rich in cortosis," she added. "And he was surprisingly spry in his old age."

"You should have seen him in action three hundred years ago," Tora'tak said wistfully. "Rich in cortosis, you say?"

"One of the few materials even the StarForge cannot create."

"Yes, I'm aware. I suppose that would be useful to the Project. But my plans did not involve you getting stuck ruling some tiny little world as a Predor."

"Plans change, father. And as committed to the Project as I am, I will not let your plans prevent my own ascension."

"You will do as your told," Tora'tak commanded, raising his voice for the first time.

"I will not be held back any longer," Sira'tak continued. "After I'm done here I will travel to Lehon and take my rightful rank. Once I have done that I will be ready to receive new orders."

"If you were not my daughter I would be beating you to death with your own limbs right now," Tora'tak said, his eyes narrowing.

"I'm only following your example, father," Sira'tak said with a vicious smile.

"You see what's happening to the Sith down there?" Tora'tak asked, gesturing towards the window. "That will happen to your new world if you continue to annoy me."

"I apologize for my insolence, Legad," Sira'tak relented, bowing her head.

"That's better. Did you at least accomplish your mission? Did you find the stray?"

"J is dead," Sira'tak announced. "But her children live and they have the Force."

"Children?"

"Two of them. A boy and a girl."

"At the same time?"

"Humans call them twins. Its uncommon but not unheard of."

"And you intend to train both of them as Hounds? It is unwise to take on more than one student at a time."

"I have nothing to fear from humans."

"Be careful of your arrogance, it could be your undoing."

"Arrogance was Kil'las's undoing. It won't be mine."

"We'll see. Did you have anything else to report?"

"Yes," Sira'tak said with a nod. "I detected the presence of an unknown species. A wanderer that the natives claimed visited them, before departing to the stars."

"Some primitive superstition?"

"Or a being that possesses a true hyperdrive, free from the limitations of our technology."

"If you have something more than rumors…"

"Not yet."

"Then don't muddle the waters with nonsense."

"As you wish," Sira'tak said. Tora'tak turned from her, a clear signal that the audience was over. "I'll give your regards to the Over-Predor."

"If he bothers to come out of the StarForge control room…" Tora'tak said quietly to himself. He glanced down as Sira'tak was halfway towards the exit. "Mind your manners on Lehon, Predor, if you wish to keep your head on your shoulders."

Sira'tak hesitated on her way out before turning back towards her father, only to find that he had once again fixed his attention on Korriban. "I'm not a fool," she muttered under her breath, before leaving.

The bombardment had abated by the time Sira'tak had returned to her transport and was making the journey back to her own ship. Troop transports were beginning to make their way to the surface, indicating that were still a decent number of survivors left to subjugate. Sira'tak rolled her eyes as she tore her attention from Korriban to her rapidly approaching starship. The Sith seemed to try their luck at rebellion at least once a generation, and for some reason her father never saw fit to completely wipe them out. Perhaps Tora'tak took sadistic pleasure in watching new Sith Lords unite the tribes of Korriban against their overlords, only to fail, over and over again. Or perhaps Tora'tak was taking notes on the various ways in which an inferior force might subvert and destroy the power of a superior one. As Sira'tak's transport entered her starship's hangar she had the strong feeling that, no matter how carefully her father plotted, the coming war would lay waste to the best laid plans.

oOoOo

The stars twinkled over the plains of Oaka Prime. The grasses undulated in gentle waves as the cool night air created the false impression of a peaceful world in harmony with nature. The shadow of a tall, broad shouldered man moved through the fields, quieter than the sound of the rustling grasses. The shadow came to a stop at the edge of the tall grass, just before the clearing that surrounded the ruins of a tiny little village.

The ruined hull of a Rakata drone fighter lay in a twisted heap before the shadowy figure. The handful of huts of the other side of wreck were empty, the villagers having fled into the wilderness. The figure reached up and pulled back the hood of their ragged cloak, revealing a skull-like face horribly disfigured with scarring. The man reached from within his cloak and removed a fleshy orb, placing it onto the twisted wing of the drone. Long fingers, twisted as if they had been broken in multiple places and never set, stroked a ridge atop the fleshy object. With a horrible sucking sound it seemed to invert onto itself. It's outer counters rippled and transformed until it took on the appearance of a face very much similar to the one who had activated it.

"Greetings High Priest," the man spoke, his voice not much more than a raspy whisper.

"Greetings Executor," came the reply from disembodied face. "Are the Gods with pleased with your progress on Oaka Prime?"

"The Gods have acted swiftly, faster even than planned. The enemy fights among themselves. The false God has been overthrown, replaced by another infidel."

"Their new ruler?"

"Is younger. Stronger. Has made a great many changes that require adjustment of the plan."

"But remains ignorant of our presence?"

The man hesitated, earning a glare from the face. "A village of converts was raided. Somehow two of their attack ships was destroyed. Several infidel warriors were killed. Their bodies remain, even the wild animals will not touch them."  
"They are truly not of the Gods," the High Priest said with disgust. "The converts could not have done this?"

"It is impossible."

"Then perhaps the Gods are responsible," the High Priest said loftily. "Make sure your spies are in place, and then remove yourself from that world. We still cannot risk detection."

"As you command, High Priest."

With the conversation at an end the fleshy object reverted with a pop. The man retrieved it and returned it to his robes. With a final glance towards the abandoned village he reentered the tall grass and disappeared from view. The breeze continued to blow and the stars continued to twinkle. All was quiet.


End file.
